


Mystery Games

by Marian_De_Haan



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Dream Relationships, Gen, Mystery, Post-Episode: s02e04 Horizon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-09-25 02:40:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 58,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20369290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marian_De_Haan/pseuds/Marian_De_Haan
Summary: After Horizon, the Liberator crew is desperate for a break. Vila suggests a vacation spot offering Mystery Games adventure where everybody gets to solve their favorite mystery. But the adventure leads them toward darker paths exploring their deepest fears and heart desires.





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Published in Avon #29. Reproduced here on the author's behalf and with the author's permission.

Mutiny in the air! Blake could almost smell it when entering the ﬂight deck. But then, with the Horizon ﬁasco just a few days behind them he shouldn't be surprised. Slouching on the couch, Vila was whining softly, alternating between indignation about having been put to manual labour and worry about possible damage to his health by the exposure to the monopasium radiation. Jenna, stiff-backed at the pilot's position, was visibly simmering about the torture she'd been subjected to. Cally was busy checking something at the forward console, with her back to him, but Blake could easily catch the waves of worry she was emitting. Avon was at his position, his icy demeanour showing he was still trying to come to terms with the fact he'd stooped to a heroic act to get his crewmates out of the mess.

"Blake!" Jenna stepped from her position.

"We can't go on like this!" Cally turned to face him. 'We need a break."

"A long one," Vila added.

Avon folded his arms. "And we need it now!"

"They're right, Blake." Gan entered, carrying a tray with glasses. "We need a rest, some relaxation."

Blake sat down on the couch. "I've told you before, we can't just check into a Federation Rest and Recuperation Centre."

Jenna sat down beside him. "There are other resorts."

"Neutral places." Cally joined them, accepting a glass from Gan.

"Exactly," Vila said, scooping up a glass from the tray. "I've been doing some research and I've found the ideal holiday resort."

"ideal for whom?" Jenna asked, while Gan sat down at the end of the couch, placing his empty tray against its side.

"Indeed." From his position, Avon glared at Vila. “l categorically refuse to go anywhere where they have water sports."

"And I'm not going to goggle at naked dancing girls," Jenna added.

Vila looked offended. "This is uncalled for. You haven't even heard what I've found." He raised his voice: "Zen, show us the Outer Helvetia Leisure Centre brochure."

+Confirmed. Please look at the main screen+ the computer replied.

All eyes turned to the screen. It showed a blue and green planet.

+Outer Helvetia+ a glib voice said. +An independent world in the Bellamor System in the Seventh Sector, discovered in the twenty-fourth century of the Old Calendar. Colonised soon after. Outer Helvetia has maintained a policy of strict neutrality throughout the centuries. Thus it has developed into the major valuta market of the FreeWorlds+

"Which means," Vila said, "that they accept any currency and ask no questions."

The camera panned in on the planet, green woodland and a blue sea filling the screen. Then a spaciously laid out, pleasant looking complex came into sight. It was situated between the sea bordered by a broad white beach at one side and a beautiful garden with a stream running through it at the other.

+The X-tra Leisure Centre+ the voice continued, +offers a wide variety of facilities. And for those in search of something different, we offer the ultimate amusement: the game of Mystery Pursuit. Have you ever been fascinated by a riddle of the past, a historic mystery you long to solve? Here is your chance! We offer you the opportunity to study any case you want. Our Reference Library - the largest in the galaxy - holds all the available information on every historical event. Our special facilities will enable you to solve the mystery of your choice. If you doubt our ability to deliver, know that we are prepared to offer your money back if you are not fully satisfied. As for the more traditional leisure activities we have on offer--+

"Stop it there, Zen," Vila said quickly. Probably wanted to avoid the mentioning of watersports or floor shows, Blake thought with mild amusement.

"Wind forward to the bit about the food," Vila instructed Zen: While a mouth-watering array of tasty dishes appeared on the screen, he added: "They specialise in ice cream."

As if on cue the picture changed to a variety of cups and glasses ﬁlled with gaily decorated ice creams and sorbets.

Staring at the screen as if in a trance, Avon slowly stepped from his position. Blake caught Vila's grin.

The image changed to a bird‘s eye view of the grounds, and the voice began a marketing talk about the facilities for after-dinner strolls.

“Well now," Avon said, lazily moving to the couches. "I can't deny this Mystery Pursuit has a certain allure."

"Yeah," Vila mumbled, "chocolate cream, cherry and pineapple!"

Ignoring him, Avon sat down. "I've always wanted to know what caused the CYMRU Disaster."

"The what?" Gan asked.

"I think I've heard of it," Blake said. "Space Station CYMRU was a laboratory for scientific research, the first of its kind."

"You mean like the XK Seventy-two?" Cally asked.

"Yes," Avon replied. "But CYMRU was a Federation establishment. It was set up during the third decade of the New Calendar."

"When the Federation embarked on their first wave of expansion," Blake added.

"Payment and working conditions were excellent," Avon continued, "which attracted some of the best brains in the galaxy. Of course, the CYMRU being a Federation Station, security was high and all personnel were rigorously vetted. For twenty-one years the station functioned as expected, then it suddenly was destroyed. Rescue teams found no survivors. Of course a major investigation was launched. Debris was retrieved and carefully studied, as were the few human remains not reduced to ashes."

"Probably one of the scientists had been careless," Vila said. "Happens all the time."

"Human error was the first possibility taken into account," Avon said. "But that would have caused one large blast. Study of the debris showed that the CYMRU was destroyed by simultaneous explosions all over the station."

"An attack by rebels," Cally suggested.

Avon gave her a cold smile. "A terrorist attack was ruled out. No outsiders had access to the station."

"A suicide mission by one of the staff," Gan said.

"That was also ruled out," Avon said. "All personnel were found to be above suspicion."

"A military blunder," Jenna suggested. "A missile going astray, like the one that destroyed XK 72."

"Impossible," Avon responded. "At the time of the explosions there were no military craft in the vicinity. The CYMRU's data-box was recovered..."

"A small inboard-computer," Blake explained to Cally, "registering all flight and other relevant data. It is compulsory for Federation craft and space stations."

Avon glared at him, clearly irritated by the interruption. "And it showed that the only craft coming within sensor range during the last fortnight had been the supply ship, which had in fact docked three hours prior to the explosion. Fragments of debris found indicated that this ship was destroyed along with the CYMRU."

"Maybe the pilot went berserk," Gan said.

Avon shook his head. "The pilot and cargo-handler were screened as thoroughly as the CYMRU personnel."

"How do you know all this?" Jenna asked. "Isn't the information classified?"

Avon produced a self-satisﬁed smile. "It is. But seven years ago a team was set up to re-examine the case. I was appointed their computer analyst. Despite a thorough analysis of all the data, we failed to ﬁnd the answer."

The irritation was evident in his voice. Blake smiled to himself - Avon didn‘t like an unsolved mystery. Personally, he couldn't see the attraction of the case. He'd bet his favourite green boots it HAD been a human error! Scientists could be incredibly careless, he‘d seen enough examples of that. But it was something the Federation would never admit - people chosen by the system could not fail.

*******

"The CYMRU isn't the only mystery in space," Jenna said. "I'd like to ﬁnd out the truth behind the 'ghostship' ORION."

Vila stared at her apprehensively. "You want to go on a ghost hunt?"

Blake had heard about that one too. "It's a legend, a myth like the Flying Dutchman of old times."

"No, Blake," Jenna said. "There's more to it. There have been too many sightings, by too many reliable people, to dismiss it as a myth."

"My people--," Cally began.

"Go on, Jenna," Blake said quickly.

"The spacecraft ORlON was an independent trader of the Nomad class, owned by her crew. About seventy years ago the ship was caught free trading in the Roslyn system in the Fourth Sector. After a prolonged pursuit by custom vessels the ORION was destroyed."

"End of story," Avon mumbled.

"No," Jenna said. "Three months later the ship began to make ghost appearances. Each lasted only seconds, but it was unmistakably the ORION."

"Yeah, escorted by pink asteroids," Vila drawled.

Jenna glared at him. "She wasn't just seen, but also registered by ships' detectors. How do you explain that?"

"She wasn't destroyed," Avon said.

"She was," Jenna replied grimly. "She took a customs ship along in the blast."

"Hoaxes?" Gan suggested.

"No, the sightings were too random and wide-spread for that. At one time she appeared during manoeuvres held by the Eighth Fleet at the Spiral Rim, and was seen by the crews of no less than seven cruisers before suddenly disappearing. Among them was 'Old Starkiller‘ Samor, who was then serving as a cadet." Jenna's eyes ﬂashed at Vila. “Not the man to succumb to drink OR visions."

"Jenna, how do you know this?" Cally asked.

"I heard the story from an old deserter who l worked with for a while. He witnessed the event - one moment the ORION was there, the next she was gone. And no, he wasn't a drunkard, or prone to hallucinations. He was one of the most sober and down-to-earth persons I've ever come across."

"Have you ever seen the ship?" Vila asked.

"No,“ Jenna replied. "Nor have I heard of any recent sightings, but that says nothing. According to my deserter friend, Space Command made a study of the appearances. They found forty-seven reliable sightings over a period of thirty years following the ORION's destruction."

"That's too long to maintain a hoax," Avon observed.

"Precisely," Jenna said. "There must be another explanation."

Blake became bored with the subject. The solution was evident: "A space mirage - particles that act as mirror, causing a ship to be seen miles from its true position. They're known to happen.

"Yes," Jenna snapped, "and every pilot is trained to recognise them! Besides, they wouldn't explain the detector readings. In all cases, the sensors registered an object, which disappeared the same moment the ORION did visually."

"Detector-readings can be falsified,"Avon said.

"By just anyone?" Jenna challenged. "I thought that required a top-line technician."

Slightly smiling, Avon spread his arms, conceding the point.

Vila frowned in consternation. "You mean there really IS a ghostship out there?"

Jenna shook her head. "I don't believe in ghosts. That's why I would like to solve the mystery."

*******

Blake shook his head; he couldn't see the attraction of either case. Now if it was a POLITICAL mystery... "I've always wanted to unravel the Guzman Affair. That case has intrigued me from the moment I came upon it during my history studies."

"The what affair?" Avon asked.

"I've never heard of it," Jenna said.

Cally shook her head. "Nor I. But then, I'm not from Earth."

"Well, let's hear it," Gan suggested.

Blake gathered his thoughts, considering the best way for telling the tale. "The event took place on Earth at the end of the 25th Century of the Old Calendar, in The Latinas, the nation formed by the amalgamation of the former states of Central America - part of one of Earth's continents," he explained to Cally. "Diego Guzman was a friend and supporter of the Opposition Leader in the Latinas‘ Parliament. One day Guzman was found dead in his apartment in Esperandan, the capital of The Latinas and seat of the government. His death has never been satisfactory solved. First the case was filed as suicide but soon the finger was pointed at the Security Service. It was said that Guzman was killed as a warning to the Opposition Leader who was becoming very popular and had put himself forward as candidate for the presidential elections. They couldn't get at the Opposition Leader himself because of his parliamentary immunity."

"If you can't get at the man himself, target his supporters," Jenna said.

Cally nodded. "It is a well-known tactic."

"Next," Blake continued, "the Security Captain who had headed the first enquiry was arrested but died before he could stand trial. Another suspect also died under suspicious circumstances. Then the Head of the Security Service came under scrutiny but also died before it came to a trial."

"The dead can't talk," Vila said.

"A fact so obvious even you can grasp it," Avon told him.

"Oh, shut up you two," Jenna said.

"My people have a saying," Cally declared: "The truth is stronger than death."

"Go on, Blake," Gan said.

"It was declared that Guzman had been eliminated by the Security Service. With all suspects dead, the case was closed." Blake frowned; he didn't know why he felt there was more to it or why this case fascinated him so in the ﬁrst place! "It seems a plausible solution but doubt has always remained. Later investigators speculated that the murder of Guzman might have been a scheme by the President to get rid of the Head of the Security Service, who had become a threat to him. Another theory went even further, speculating that the Opposition Leader himself had killed Guzman, sacriﬁcing his friend in order to frame the murder on the Security Service. A variation on this was that the killing had been done by a member of his team, without his knowledge." In vain he tried to retrieve their names from the back of his mind. "However, I'd like to get to the bottom of this, ﬁnd out why Guzman was killed and by whom."

*******

Groaning, Vila lowered his head in his hands. "Please, you're giving me a headache! Anyway, why bother with these fruitless cases? I prefer a case with the prospect of a little profit like tracing the loot of the DEPENDABLE Heist. Now THAT would be worth my trouble!"

"I can't say the name rings a bell." Avon sounded annoyed, Blake noticed amused, as if he thought he should know about every major theft in history.

"It happened in the last century of the Old Calendar,“ Vila said. "The Space Shuttle DEPENDABLE was one of the ships employed by Galaxbank for the transport of gold to their various branches. The craft was controlled from the Galaxbank Headquarters on Earth and constantly monitored. The crew of six had been vetted, like all the Galaxbank personnel. The security was supposed to be impregnable." He snorted. "On what started as a routine run from the gold mines on Aurelia Four to Earth, the DEPENDABLE got into trouble and the crew had to abandon ship. Four members of the crew landed safely in their escape capsules on Cathay Minor. The other two, along with their capsules, were never found. The wreck of the DEPENDABLE was recovered. The strong room with the safe was still intact. but when the safe was opened it was found to contain bars of COARSAL, a worthless metal with the same weight as gold."

Vila's eyes began to shine with admiration. "On the inside of the door they found a drawing of a square with a diamond in it. That's the mark of the Ace, an elusive burglar and safecracker. He always left his mark on the job."

"Not very clever," Avon said. "It can be used as evidence."

Vila grinned. "Only if they catch you, and the Ace has never been caught. Anyway, the investigation centered on the two missing crew members. Both turned out to be last-minute replacements of regular crew members. It was established their identities were forged, false data having been fed into the computer. Suspicion fell on an employee of the Galaxbank Aurelia Four Branch, who allegedly went on holiday the day the DEPENDABLE set out on its last voyage. Neither he nor the Ace were ever seen or heard of again, nor did any of the DEPENDABLE‘s gold turn up anywhere. You know all non-Terran gold is marked. The Galaxbank people kept on the look-out for it for many years."

"How do you know all this?" Jenna asked.

"I happened upon the file when going through the safe of a senior historian." Vila gave another grin. "So you see, the Ace must have stashed the loot away, keeping it in a safe place as nest-egg for his old age, hoping that by that time everyone would have forgotten about the theft. And since the loot has never turned up, it must still be in its hiding place. If we can find out where the Ace left the gold, we can retrieve it."

*******

"Shame on you, Vila! To be thinking only of wealth," Cally said. "There are much more worthwhile mysteries to solve, such as the Auron initiation Enigma."

"That sounds horribly boring," Vila muttered.

Blake silently agreed but, as a member of his crew, Cally had as much right as the others to talk about her favourite mystery. "Tell us about it, Cally."

"It happened at the Dawn of Auron Time, when my people were still living in caves. They had many rituals. The most important was the Summer Solstice Initiation Rite, which prepared children for adulthood. They had to spend seven days in the Cave of Conﬁrmation in silence and isolation."

"That doesn't sound much of a hardship," Avon observed.

"It is for my people," Cally said. "Although they had not yet developed telepathy then, the Auronar have always been very close and reliant upon each other's mental support. For adolescents, spending six days locked up in a cave without the company of their kin was considered a major trial. Passing the test was the first step into adulthood."

Blake felt a sudden stab of pain remembering his own happy childhood with his parents and brother and sister. "I can understand what you're saying, Cally."

She gave him a grateful look. "On the Eve of one Summer Solstice, six youngsters entered the Cave of Conﬁrmation. The Shaman blessed them and the Elders brought in fire and food, then blocked the entrance. The Elders took turns keeping watch at the entrance, where they could catch every sound above the lowest whisper, to make sure the candidates did not talk. Seven days went by and not a sound came from the cave. When the reed curtain, used for blocking the entrance, was removed and the Elders entered to escort the candidates out, they found the cave empty. The six youngsters were gone and no trace of them has ever been found."

"They must have escaped through a back entrance," Jenna said. "A secret passage the Elders did not know about."

Cally shook her head. “The Elders searched the cave and found none. Besides, no child of Auron would dare to break the Confirmation Law."

"Maybe they were eaten by an animal living in the cave," Vila suggested.

"Don‘t be silly, Vila," Gan told him. "An animal would have been found."

"Not if it could come and leave," Vila argued. "A snake perhaps, that could go in and out through a small opening."

"Not with six children in its belly," Avon remarked.

"There are no snakes on Auron," Cally said. "The only man-eating animal to be known to live in caves was the Auron Bear. But the Shaman had ritually purified the whole cave with incense before the candidates were brought in, and surely would have found any bear living there."

"You mean they really vanished into thin air?" Vila shuddered. "Spooky!"

"Impossible," Avon said. "No doubt it is one of those folktales one can‘t take seriously."

"Our legends say they were taken by the Gods--"

"That's what l mean," Avon growled.

"But I've always felt there must be a rational explanation," Cally went on, casting Avon a challenging look. "I know folktales can't be taken seriously, but the simplicity of this story suggests there is an essence of truth behind it. Fiction is usually more embroidered and imaginative."

"To me," Jenna observed, "this sounds like bad ﬁction!"

*******

"But truth can be stranger than ﬁction," Gan said. "On Zephron we had the Case of the Vanished Doctor."

"Sounds like a conjuring trick," Vila mumbled.

"It was real,“ Gan said. "My great-grandmother witnessed It, and she was a very down-to-earth woman."

Blake could well believe that - Gan himself wasn't endowed with much imagination. Seeing Avon open his mouth, no doubt to point this out in his hurtful manner, he quickly said: "Tell us about it, Gan."

"It happened at the hospital in Bellair, the capital of Zephron‘s Southern Continent. My great-grandmother, who was nineteen then, worked at the hospital as a junior catering assistant. The doctor was a respected surgeon, a widower although only in his late thirties. He'd spend the morning in the operating room. Towards noon he went to his room, which was very small, containing only a desk with a computer and a chair. He asked my great-grandmother to fetch him a meal from the canteen. She then saw him enter his room. The doctor closed the door and my great-grandmother went to the canteen to get the ordered meal. When she returned about ten minutes later, she found the room empty. The computer screen showed an open file, the data stopping in mid-sentence. Nobody had seen the doctor leave. The room had only one entrance, and the door was in sight of the staff-nurse's desk. She and an orderly were on duty at the time, and would have seen the doctor leave his room."

"Or that's what they said to cover the fact they were not paying attention at all," Jenna said.

Gan shook his head. "My great-grandmother swore they were both conscientious persons who took their duty seriously. They maintained that nobody had entered the room after the doctor, and nobody had come out. As said, there was no other exit and, being an inner room, the place had no windows."

Vila snorted. "Easy for him to hide in a cupboard and sneak out while everyone's searching elsewhere."

"There was no cupboard in the room," Gan said.

"A secret passage," Cally suggested.

"Impossible," Gan replied. "The room was thoroughly searched and nothing out of the ordinary was found. The room was on the fourth floor of eight, so there weren't any passages to a cellar or attic he could have hidden in. And remember, the computer file suddenly stopped -- as if he‘d been prevented from finishing his sentence."

"Adding an air of drama to the scene," Avon observed. "A classic set-up."

"You mean he engineered his own disappearance?" Jenna asked.

He gave her a brief smile. "Obviously. He probably walked out quite openly, choosing a moment when the people at the desk were occupied. The ordered meal and the unfinished file did the rest."

"No," Gan said heatedly. "That's not like him. By all accounts he was a gentle soul, always considerate to others. He would never leave his friends to worry about him."

Blake began to feel intrigued despite himself. "You said he was a widower. Did he have children?"

"I don't think so."

"There you are then," Avon said. "No wife, no children, possibly no close friends. He simply decided to start again somewhere else."

"And he never returned?“ Cally asked.

"No," Gan replied. "They never saw hide or hair of him again. The affair made a great impression on my great-grandmother because she was the last person to talk to him."

He began to look wistful. "I would like to ﬁnd out what happened to him, how he could have vanished without a trace."

*******

A good question, Blake thought. It WAS probably a matter of the doctor wanting to start a new life elsewhere, but he'd surely managed a memorable retreat!

Avon rose. Blake found himself confronted by his dark gaze: "Well, Blake?" Yes, perhaps they should take a holiday at this Outer Helvetia resort. He'd like the chance to dig deeper into the Guzman Affair. And the resort seemed fairly isolated, which would prevent the criminal element of his crew from deciding on a bit of private enterprise. Besides, if they were engaged in those Mystery Games, this would prevent them from getting themselves into trouble.

He turned to his pilot: "Jenna?" Knowing the answer in advance, he could allow his crew a say in the matter.

"We're due for a break," she replied.

"Overdue," Vila added, looking apprehensive, as if he couldn't believe he was getting his way.

"All right," Blake said.

"Zen, set course for Outer Helvetia," Avon instructed quickly, as if afraid Blake would change his mind. "Speed standard by six."

+Confirmed.+

*******

The change in atmosphere aboard Liberator was remarkable. Seldom had Blake seen such harmony and peace among his crew. Cally went about her tasks smiling and humming softly. Avon seemed more relaxed than Blake had ever seen him, his jibes sounding almost friendly. Not a single moan had passed Vila's lips for the whole sixteen days the trip to Outer Helvetia took. Jenna spent all her free time in the wardrobe room, happily selecting clothes for the event. Only Gan just went on as usual, seemingly unaffected by the prospect of their holiday.

+Information+ Zen cut into his reﬂections.

+Liberator is now within teleport distance of the planet Outer Helvetia+

Blake rose from his position. "Thank you, Zen. Put the ship into a geo-stationary orbit above the X-tra Leisure Resort."

While the computer confirmed this, Blake went to the communicator on the forward console. It was early morning shiptime but a quick calculation told him it was an hour before noon at their destination. This meant they could skip breakfast aboard and take lunch at the Resort instead; they were due to book in at noon. He activated the intercom: "Attention. We've arrived. Get kitted up for teleport in forty-five minutes."

With grim relish he went to fetch Orac to tell the testy machine it had to teleport them down and then remain on duty to fetch them back when requested.

*******

Orac had selected a place behind some bushes, away from prying eyes, for them to materialise. Blake inhaled the fresh air gratefully, always a pleasure after Liberator‘s controlled environment. The air had a tinge of salt in it, not surprising so near to the sea. The temperature was at least ten degrees below the average mentioned in the brochure, and a ﬁne drizzle was descending. No wonder the garden was deserted, Blake thought, taking in the stretch of lawn bordered by colourful ﬂowerbeds. Bushes and trees blocked the view Into the distance.

He turned and followed the others, who were hurrying up the drive towards the Centre's entrance. From a distance the place had the appearance of an old-fashioned brickwork building, but from close up he could see that the brick-pattern was painted on the metal walls. The tall windows at either side of the entrance were of mirror glass, preventing a peep inside. The double doors slid open on their approach. Gratefully Blake followed his crew out of the rain into a deserted but functional looking reception area.

"Welcome," a metallic voice said from the direction of the counter. It must belong to the computer there, a metal box of about a cubic metre with various slots and knobs.

"Smith and company," Vila said, swaggering towards the counter. "We made a reservation."

"Six single rooms," the machine replied. "Your chosen Mystery Pursuits are in chronological order: the Auron Initiation Enigma, the Guzman Affair, the DEPENDABLE Heist, the CYMRU Disaster, the Zephron Case of the Vanished Doctor and the Ghostship ORION Riddle. ls this correct?"

"Yes," Blake replied, vaguely surprised that Vila, in charge of the booking, had managed to get them all right.

"That is six thousand credits or the equivalent," the computer said. “Put the payment on the red plate, please."

Avon produced a wad of bank notes and placed them on the indicated spot, a softly glowing metal plate in front of the computer. He seemed reluctant, as always when having to part with money.

One by one the notes were sucked into the machine, where no doubt they were checked for validity.

"This is all a bit impersonal, isn't it?" Vila remarked.

"It is efﬁcient," Avon said.

Vila scowled. "Yeah, but I prefer the personal touch - a pretty girl with a smile and good legs."

"But her legs would be invisible behind the counter," Cally pointed out.

Jenna cast Vila an irritated look. 'Why a girl? l'd prefer a handsome young man."

"But you've already got one." Vila grinned at her invitingly.

Jenna rolled her eyes.

"Oh, shut up, Vila!" Cally said.

"Payment accepted." The computer spewed out six key cards in quick succession. "Check-in procedure completed. Your rooms are in the East Wing, just follow the yellow line. Lunch is in half an hour. You will be summoned. Please change into the clothes laid out in your rooms. They will get you into the mood for your chosen Mystery Game."

Vila scooped up the cards with an air of propriety. Blake hoped for his sake that the stay would be to Avon's satisfaction, otherwise poor Vila would never hear the end of it. He accepted his card from Vila and read: '113, Guzman Affair'. So the place didn't succumb to the old prejudice of avoiding the number 13.

They went into the left corridor, following the painted line on the silvery metal walls, their feet sinking into the thick blue carpet. The line brought them to a set of double doors, which slid open on their approach. They stepped through, ﬁnding themselves in another corridor. Here the carpet was red, while the walls were painted a pale green. On both sides, at regular intervals, were numbered doors.

Avon stopped in front of a door on the left. "108, Space Station CYMRU." He entered his card in to the slot, the door sprung open and he went in.

"This is mine," Cally said, pointing at the opposite door that bore the number 109.

110 was Vila's, 111 Jenna's and 112 Gan‘s. Blake opened the door of number 113, stepped in and halted abruptly. A man was standing at the back of the room, staring at him. No, it must be his reﬂection - he was looking at a life-size mirror! Blake took a step closer. The reﬂection didn't move. Another step and he could see that the man wasn't him. There was a superficial likeness in the unruly dark curls and general build, but this man had a moustache and his eyes were darker. Moreover, he wore a multicoloured poncho, quite different from Blake's green wide-sleeved jacket. A large hat, red with triangular decorations in green, yellow and blue, was hanging on the man's back, fastened by strings round his neck. Red trousers and red leather boots completed the outﬁt.

A life-size portrait, Blake deduced, studying the frame. It was very cleverly done, the silver background giving the impression of a mirror. This must be Guzman. But no, he now noticed a plaque on top of the frame bearing the words: RODRIGO BLANCO.

Blanco - yes, that was the name of the Opposition Leader, Guzman's friend. Did it mean that HE was at the heart of the affair? The resort certainly made a good job of the promised Mystery Games!

His room was small but pleasantly furnished with a single bed, low table and comfortable chair. The window gave on a sunny stretch of lawn. Then he remembered the drizzle, and realised the glass was pink-tinted, giving a warmer outlook than reality merited.

On the bed were spread out the same clothes the man in the portrait was wearing, plus a white, open-necked shirt. He quickly changed. The clothes fitted perfectly and felt very comfortable. The poncho was woven from fluorescent fibres, its many colours lighting up in the softly lit room. Blake added the hat, letting it hang on his back as it was in the portrait.

"Blake."

He turned, realising he'd left his door open.

Jenna entered, making a girlish pirouette. "How do I look?"

For a moment he was stuck for words. The deep-cut, short-sleeved, white leather tunic was the shortest he'd ever seen her wear. The sleeves and bottom were cut in to provide a fringe, like the clothes of the 'redskins' of Earth he'd seen pictures of. The tunic was decorated with many spangles in a variety of metallic colours. For a moment he thought she was naked underneath, then he saw she was wearing a body stocking so tight and so like her skin in colour as to be almost invisible. On her hair was a bespangled white band. The same spangles seemed dotted around her hair. A closer look revealed they were hanging from the band on fine threads in the colour of her hair, making the strands almost invisible.

"Dazzling," was the only word he could think of.

At the back of his mind was the notion that something was wrong with her. it took him a moment to work out it was her height: her knee-length white boots had ﬂat heels, making her about two inches shorter then what he was used to.

"Is that gear meant to help us see in the dark?" came Avon's voice from the doorway.

He should talk, Blake thought, trying to focus on the swirl of colours of Avon's tunic. They kept changing as he moved. Their brightness made the dark blue of his high-necked sweater, trousers and boots look black.

"Magic fabric," Jenna said, ﬁngering the material. "I had a dress made of it as a child. it changes colour depending on the way the light falls - alternating between silver, gold, aqua and magenta."

"Yes, an ingenious fabrication process." Avon seemed very taken with the garment.

Blake had to avert his eyes; the ever-changing pattern made him feel dizzy.

"Oh, are you all here?" Cally said from the corridor. Avon, who was blocking the doorway, stepped in to the room so she could enter.

Cally wore a coarsely woven dress in many shades of green, held together at the waist by a braided band. A similar band was bound round her head. A necklace of shells decorated her chest while her arms and legs were covered in many thin bracelets of a warm silvery pink colour. She was bare-footed - not a problem on the thick, soft carpet.

The dress looked a simple affair, made from two pieces of cloth sewn together, with openings for the neck and arms. But gradually Blake became aware of fine shiny threads woven into the cloth. They were of the same pinkish hue as the bands on her arms and legs.

"Auronoa," Cally explained, following his gaze.

"Also known as Auron gold," Avon said.

Cally nodded. "It was the first precious metal mined by my people. According to our legends the amount of auronoa in a person's clothes denoted the wearer‘s ranking."

She sounded a little uneasy, making Blake wonder if there might still be a class system on Auron and Cally felt she was dressed above her station.

Before he could ask her, Vila appeared. "Hello, are we supposed to take part in a dress contest?" He wore a coverall of the brightest yellow Blake had ever seen; he could almost swear he could see himself reflected in the fabric. The coverall. open at the neck, was decorated with bands of ﬁery red. Added to it were shiny yellow boots and a blue high-necked sweater.

"What's that logo?" Jenna asked, pointing at Vila's left upper pocket. GSS DEPENDABLE, Blake read.

"Galaxbank Security Shuttle," Vila said. "This is the uniform of the DEPENDABLE's crew. I like it."

Avon gave the outfit a derogatory look. "You would!"

Vila was prevented from commenting by Gan's arrival. His simple purple tunic and calf-length blue trousers were vaguely reminiscent of the clothes of the ancient Chinese peasants. The broad collar of flat glass beads in every possible colour reminded Blake of an even older Egyptian culture. He doubted though, if their collars had been as colourful.

As if to stress the amalgamation of fashions, the sandals on Gan's feet were of the ancient Roman type, with leather laces running up the ankles. In contrast, the white surgeon's cap on his head was timeless.

"Mauve and azure, an unusual combination," Jenna observed.

"We like pastel tints on Zephron," Gan said.

The loudspeaker in the room came to life: "Attention, lunch is served. in preparation for the Mystery Pursuit game, which will start in an hour precisely, the food provided is specially chosen to represent that of the time and place of your chosen topic. The dining room can be reached by following the blue line from the reception hall."

*******

The dining room was a spacious chamber with a fountain in the centre surrounded by masses of flowering plants. Some Blake recognised but most were new to him. Must be the local ﬂora. They looked quite exotic. A dozen tables were dotted round the place, leaving lots of space. The buffet was set against the far wall. Blake counted six tables laden with food.

Thankfully there was no music, just the pleasant bubbling sound of cascading water from the fountain.

"We seem to be the only guests," Avon observed, surveying the room.

"No waiting in the queue then," Vila said, briskly moving to the buffet. Blake took a tray from a sideboard and followed him.

The ﬁrst table was marked CAVE OF THE RITUALS. The food displayed on it reminded Blake of the diet of Stone Age people. A flat, round bread that looked as if it was baked on a hot stone. A bowl with soup that smelled rather good. A plate with roasted vegetables, another with a mushroom salad. A small basket held a variety of nuts, another boiled eggs in various sizes and colours. A large earthenware jar contained herbal tea, another held water.

Cally seemed quite taken with the food, selecting portions of everything. Grateful for having chosen a mystery from a less primitive culture, Blake moved on.

ESPERANDAN, the card on the next table said. With approval Blake inhaled the spicy aroma from the dishes. One bowl held a mixture of maize, beans and chunks of meat, another fish fillets in a red sauce. There was an array of fresh fruits, tastefully arranged. Also different bottles of liquor and a carafe with iced water.

Blake took a portion of both dishes and one piece of every fruit variety on offer. He poured himself a glass of water, better keep his mind clear for the mental exercise of the mystery game.

"Now that's not FAIR!" Vila stood staring at the third table. GSS DEPENDABLE the tag said. The table held nothing but a kettle full of hot water and lots of differently coloured small packets.

Jenna picked up a packet, "Dried and condensed grains. Soaked in hot water these form an easily digestible porridge. They were the staple food for space travellers on long-distance voyages." She dropped the packet and picked up another. "These pink and orange ones hold concentrated fruit juice - just add water."

Vila eyed the packets with distaste. "Porridge? That sounds even worse than the stuff on Liberator! I should at least be entitled to some decent wine."

"Not on the DEPENDABLE," Avon said. "Alcohol is prohibited on banking corporations' craft."

"It would be," Vila mumbled while they moved to the next table, marked SPACE STATION CYMRU. It held a variety of exquisite dishes and bottles of ﬁrst class wines. At the back of the table a small freezer displayed a selection of ice creams.

Gan whistled. "No space travellers' food for the scientists aboard the CYMRU!"

"Of course not," Avon said. "The station had its own chef. A supply ship brought in fresh food every three weeks. If you want to attract the top scientists in the galaxy, you have to make it worth their while."

"Surely the honour of working at such an establishment would be worth a little hardship," Cally commented.

"For the Auronar, maybe. Humans like their little luxuries." Avon took a small portion from each dish, completing his selection with a large scoop of every ice cream flavour on offer. Blake counted nine.

"Quite so!" Vila began to pile up his tray from Avon‘s table. "There's enough for two," he said, helping himself to a bottle of wine. "I‘m not going to touch that porridge stuff - I've got a delicate stomach."

Avon produced a look of patient sufferance. "Which goes well with your feeble brain."

Gan had moved to the next table. "ZEPHRON, that's mine.“ As could be expected from a farming planet, it held simple dishes. Blake recognised fried meat and vegetables, pies and pastries.

Gan picked up a bottle, reading the label with a contented air. "Plum-cider, our national drink."

They came to the last table, marked NCF ORION. "Nomad Class Freighter ORION," Jenna explained. The cubes of concentrated food were the same as those on board Liberator, specially designed to minimise storage room and weight. Diluted in water they expanded to ten times their size, making a healthy and tasty dish.

Jenna read the labels. "Prawn curry, apple-vanilla pie, fried warg-strangler - what old-fashioned flavours!"

"They were probably in fashion at the time of the ORION," Blake said.

They settled at the nearest table and tucked in. Blake found the food to his taste. The red sauce was a bit too hot but he could easily scrape it from his ﬁsh.

Jenna sampled the prawn curry mass and made a face. "I can see why this went out of fashion."

"Try the warg-strangler," Gan suggested, speaking with his mouth full.

Vila waved a forkful of lasagne. "Try this lot - it's good."

Avon cast him a thunderous look while Jenna went to help herself from the CYMRU table, but relaxed when she ignored the ice cream.

"Ah, it is so good to taste Auron mushrooms again," Cally said. "And these billican eggs are a treat."

Blake looked away; their sickly green colour made him feel slightly queasy.

Vila emptied the wine bottle into his glass while Avon ﬁnished his ice cream. He downed the glass and rose. "Second helping?"

Not waiting for Avon's nod he went to the CYMRU table.

"Good idea," Gan said, and took his empty plate to the Zephron selection.

Vila returned with two ice coups, ﬁlled to overﬂowing, and two full wine bottles on his tray. He served Avon, then himself. After his ﬁrst spoonful he pushed his coup away. "I don't think I can manage this."

"I'll take it, it‘s too good to waste," Avon said, pulling the coup swiftly towards him. With a straight face he added: "But if I have to ﬁnish this, I can't manage the wine."

Vila scooped up Avon‘s bottle. "I'll take care of it, then. As you say, It's too good to waste!"

Blake caught a gleam of mischief in Avon's eyes. No need to interfere - it would serve Vila right if he would fall asleep halfway through his mystery game

"Attention," sounded a metallic voice from the tannoy. "The Mystery Pursuit will start in ﬁfteen minutes in the West wing. Follow the purple line from the Reception area."

"Good." Blake rose, feeling a pleasant tinge of anticipation.


	2. The Ghostship Orion Mystery (Jenna)

After a quick freshen up in her room, Jenna hurried to the Reception Area where she found the others waiting for her. Both Vila and Avon looked well and eager, she noticed with mild irritation. After their indulgence at lunch, she'd expected the one to be dead drunk and the other thoroughly sick.

"Right," Blake said, waving a hand at the wall. "The purple line." He strode to the indicated corridor. The others followed, Jenna ﬁnding Gan at her side.

"What do you think this game will be like?" he asked.

Jenna realised she hadn't given the matter any thought. She shrugged. "A computer holding the available data, I suppose."

The corridor was long. Jenna noticed the lighting decreasing, until they proceeded in near darkness. She could just make out doors at both sides, at regular distances.

"Spooky, hey?" Vila commented, a tinge of real fear in his joking voice.

Blake stopped so suddenly that Jenna nearly bumped into him. He pointed at an illuminated sign above a door to their left. "This must be yours, Jenna."

"NCF ORION," she read, a bit surprised; she'd expected the 'game' to take place in a large research hall. "Right, see you later.“ She opened the door and stepped inside.

She was in another corridor, equally dark and about ten metres long. At the end she saw light coming from a partially opened door. Walking towards it, she became aware of a soft humming coming through the gap. Not of a computer, no, this sound she'd recognise anywhere! It was the melodious humming of the systems of a Nomad Class Freighter. Her first piloting experience as a free trader had been on an NCF.

She opened the door further. Breathing out a whistle of surprise, she surveyed the place. An NCF flight deck, complete to the last detail! At the front was the recreation area, with six lounge chairs placed in a semi-circle round a low table. The six flight seats, at the rear of the deck, were positioned in three rows. Automatically Jenna moved to the front left seat, the one for the pilot. She sat down. A quick scan of the instruments on the console in front of her told her that the ship was in orbit on standby, ready for take off.

The seat felt familiar. Not merely like that of a type of ship she knew well but more personal - HER seat in HER ship.

She turned her head at the sound of running footsteps. People came rushing through the airlock. But... she knew them! Deneb, his wide purple tunic ﬂowing round his large body, was supporting a limping Antares, dark-haired and dark-miened. Slim and svelte Capella, waving her gun, had blood shining through her auburn curls. Spica was moaning as usual. Maybe this time with reason, as the sleeve of his tawny tunic was covered In blood. Last came Regulus. Pushing the airlock shut and activating the sealing mechanism, he shouted:

"Get the ship out of here, Gemma!"

Yes, that was her name! She was Gemma, free trader and pilot of the freighter ORION under the command of Captain Regulus. Antares acted as navigator and Deneb as cargo-handler. Capella, the only other woman of the crew, was a communications specialist. Spica, brown haired with clear brown eyes reminiscent of a puppy, liked to call himself the 'domestics ofﬁcer'.

While Regulus dropped into the commander's seat at her right, Gemma activated the drive and the ship shot away. From the seat behind her Antares called out the course. She made the corrections, quite automatically.

"Five ships following," Capella reported from her seat next to Antares. In the back seats, Spica and Deneb tensed.

"l have them on the screen," Antares said. "Keep course, Gemma!"

"Military?" Regulus asked.

"No, customs," Capella replied.

"Then we have a chance,“ Deneb said. "Only if we can outrun them," Antares pointed out.

"Fat change," Spica spat. "I told you we should have waited. It's Friday the thirteenth, isn't it!" He'd been whining about that from the moment he'd learned the date of the rendezvous.

Gemma risked a quick glance at Regulus: "What happened?" He hung his head in exhaustion, his fingers ploughing through his thick dark curls. "An ambush."

"Instead of our customers, we found the customs waiting for us," Antares added in his sharp voice.

"We only got away by the skin of our teeth," Deneb remarked.

"I'm bleeding to death!" Spica said.

"Stop whining," Antares told him. "It's only a scratch."

Over Spica's indignant protests Capella called out: "Two, three, six new craft approaching. Closing in fast."

Gemma checked the readings on her console. "Time Distort 13! They must be those new pursuit ships - Mark Sevens." She'd heard about their development.

"Space Command's latest," Antares confirmed. “We'll never outrun them!"

Spica gave another moan. "We're dead!"

"No!" Regulus roared. "Gemma, ﬁre the Death Bolt!"

"It's not ready," Antares protested. He was a keen ﬁddler with electronics and the Death Bolt was his latest gadget.

Gemma cast a quick glance over her shoulder: "You told us it was ready."

"Ready for TESTING."

Regulus gave a sudden grin. "What better chance do you want?"

"All right," Antares said. "But let them get as close as possible."

"In two minutes we'll be in their ﬁring range," Capella warned.

"Release bolt in one minute, 55 seconds," Regulus instructed.

"Course laid in for the Pharos System," Antares said.

Gemma nodded. They could hide in the system's giant meteor ﬁeld. It would be impossible for any detector to distinguish between the ORION and the many drifting rocks.

"Twenty seconds." Regulus said.

Gemma brought her hand to the button and waited, forcing herself to listen calmly to the Captain's steady voice as he counted down the seconds.

"Three, two, one, NOW!"

She pushed the button. On her screen the dark space was suddenly lit up. And this was the forward vision - behind them the light of the explosion must be blinding! Taking the steering column in both hands, she braced herself for the shock wave. It came, carrying the ship forward, increasing its speed.

"We're going to make it!" Deneb exclaimed.

Several anxious seconds passed, then Capella reported: "They're no longer chasing us."

"One of their ships flew straight into the blast," Antares said.

"Yeah," Spica drawled. "It looks as if your gadget did the trick, Antares." A pause, then he added: "What exactly did it do?"

"Spread a curtain of fire in the path of our pursuers to make it look as if ORlON self-destructed. It also temporarily disabled their scanners, hopefully for long enough for us get out of their range before they come back on."

"I am picking up a transmission," Capella said. "Listen."

From her console came a male voice: "...ORlON destroyed. Pursuit One lost in action. Are returning to base. Pursuit Two out."

"This sounds as if our ruse worked," Antares said.

"We're out of detector range," Capella announced.

Regulus raised his eyebrows. "Already?"

"The shock wave gave us an extra push," Gemma said.

"How long before we reach the Pharos System?" Regulus asked.

"Seven hours," Antares replied. "We should have this part of space to ourselves."

True, Gemma thought. The Pharos System had no habitable planets, so did not attract much trafﬁc.

"Right," Regulus said, rising. "Stand down battle stations, the emergency is over. You'd better stay on manual a bit longer though, Gemma. Just in case."

Still high on elation, she nodded. She enjoyed ﬂying the ship by hand — having all that power under her control.

"Capella, Antares," Regulus continued, "you'd better have your wounds checked."

"And me," Spica said indignantly, moving to the recreation area.

Deneb took the ﬁrst aid box from its place under the commander's seat and followed him. "Turn up your sleeve, Spica."

"I can't, it‘s stuck."

"Come here!" Deneb took a hold and jerked hard.

"Ouch," Spica protested. "That hurt!"

"There's nothing wrong with your arm," Deneb said, scrutinising the limb. "Not even a scratch."

"Typical," Antares mumbled.

Gemma caught Regulus's amused smile.

Spica scowled at them. "This is blood, isn't it?"

"It must be mine," Capella said, sitting down on one of the lounge chairs. "I fell against you, remember."

While Deneb set to work cleaning her wound and Antares limped to another chair, Gemma asked: "What exactly happened?"

Regulus shook his head, as if still unable to believe the events. "We found the customs waiting for us in the warehouse."

"Our contact must have betrayed us," Antares said while falling down heavily into a chair.

"How did you get away?" Gemma asked.

Deneb gave a sudden grin: 'We've got Spica to thank for that."

That seemed highly unlikely to Gemma. "How?"

"They told us to drop our guns," Capella said.

"Spica did as he was told," Regulus took up the story. “But his gun went off when it hit the floor. The charge ricocheted off the wall and hit the customs leader in the buttocks."

"They thought they were attacked from behind and dived for cover," Deneb said. "We made a rush for the door. By the time they‘d recovered we were away."

Antares grimaced while taking off his boot. "They managed to send a few shots after us, though."

Gemma saw a large slash in the shiny black boot, and a corresponding bloody gash on his lower leg.

"I can't see any signs of concussion, Capella," Deneb said. "You were lucky, it's no more than a gaze. The blood-staunching spray will take care of it."

While Deneb began to treat Antares‘s wound, Spica jumped from his chair. "Drink, anyone? We should celebrate our escape."

"That might be a bit premature," Antares said through clenched teeth. Deneb's ministrations must hurt him, Gemma noticed idly.

"Why?" Spica asked. "You heard the message: they think we're dead."

"Only for as long as we stay in hiding,“ Antares replied. "The moment we're spotted, they'll realise we've tricked them."

"And the chase will be on again." Gemma felt her elation drain away; she had not been thinking that far ahead.

"With one of their pursuit ships destroyed, we need not count on any clemency," Capella said.

"Precisely." Antares‘s voice was even sharper than usual.

Deneb finished cleaning the wound and reached for the sealing spray. "But it's not our fault that their ship flew into the fire!"

"They'll hold us responsible anyway," Regulus said.

Capella nodded. "They'll charge us with terrorism instead of smuggling."

Gemma's heart turned cold. Terrorism carried a mandatory death sentence. She'd heard whispers about the condemned being sent to laboratories to die a horrible death as human guinea pigs.

"So we'll have to get rid of the ship," Spica said. "Sell it before our fate becomes known. With a bit of luck we'll get a decent price."

"For once in his life Spica is right,"Antares observed.

"Yes." Capella nodded again. “We must act quickly."

"It's our only chance," Gemma had to concede. But oh, she would miss the ORION! She'd felt a special bond with the ship ever since setting foot on it three years ago when she, Regulus and Antares had clubbed together to buy their own spacecraft.

They‘d'met in prison, where she'd been sent for trying to smuggle fugitives out of the Federation territory. Her lawyer had managed to convince the court she'd been led astray by her partner - who'd run, leaving her to carry the can - and she'd got away with the minimum sentence of six months. Regulus had been jailed for Civil Disobedience- he'd told his bullying and incompetent superior at the Federation Engineering Department exactly what he thought of him. Unfortunately, the superior happened to be the protégé of a High Council member and this had earned him a jail sentence instead of the usual reprimand. Antares had been serving the last leg of an eight-year sentence for fraud. By chance they'd been due for release at the same date. With their criminal records, none of them would have been able to get employment again, so they'd decided to use their assets to buy a freighter. Ofﬁcially they were running a transport business, but the real proﬁt came from some lucrative 'free trading' on the sideline.

Four months after setting up business they'd recruited their former cellmates Deneb and Spica, when they were released from prison. (Spica had done time for theft and Deneb for assault on the security guard who had harassed his girlfriend.) Six months later they‘d been commissioned to deliver a consignment of arms to a rebel group on Chazia Delta. On reaching the base they learned that all rebels except for Capella had been wiped out by a Federation patrol. Against Gemma's will, Regulus had offered Capella a place on the ORION. At ﬁrst Gemma had been very suspicious of Capella, of whom they knew next to nothing. (For all they knew, Capella might have betrayed her comrades on Chazia Delta to the Federation to save her own life.) But gradually she'd grown to trust her.

Gemma brought her mind back to the present. "We'll have to ditch the ORlON."

"No!" Regulus turned to Antares: "What about that other device you've been working on?"

"An anti-detection shield," Antares said, while keeping his eyes on Deneb's work on his wound. "It's as good as finished."

Regulus nodded. "Then that's our solution."

Now Antares gave him a sharp glance. "The shield's for the SHUTTLE!" The ORION had a single shuttle, to ferry goods to places with no landing facilities for the ship.

"But surely you can extend it to the whole ship?"

"Perhaps." Antares's gaze turned inwards. "The problem will be the power supply. A shield of that size will need an enormous amount of energy."

"ORlON's solar power panels can generate any amount of power needed," Gemma reminded him.

Antares gave her a cold smile. "Only as long as we're in the vicinity of a sun. For travelling between solar systems we have to do with the reserve in the energy banks, which is limited."

"We'll worry about that later," Regulus said. "Just concentrate on enlarging the shield."

"And better be quick about it," Gemma added. “Remember we were planning to lay in supplies at our rendezvous." The air and water were recycled, but they had to regularly replenish their food stock. "We have food for another three weeks."

Spica suddenly looked sober. "And only six bottles of wine."

Regulus clapped Antares heartily on the shoulder. "So, you have three weeks to adapt the shield."

*******

"Will it work?" Regulus asked, his voice breaking the tense silence. They were at battle stations, nervously watching ORION's main screen that showed three Space Command patrol ships at the outer sensor range. If ORION could detect them, they must be able to pick up ORION.

"Yes." Antares's voice, coming from behind Gemma, held no doubt.

She tried to relax. After all, it was his life at stake as much as theirs. Besides, the only thing you could rely on with Antares was that his gadgets worked. She didn't trust him - In fact she wouldn't be surprised if one day they'd find him gone with as much of their savings as he'd been able to get his greedy hands on - but he wouldn't promise a technical achievement unless he was certain he could deliver it.

"Don't you think we should wait for another occasion?" Spica asked nervously. “An unarmed, civilian ship for example."

"Civilian ships don't come this way," Deneb said.

"We can't afford to wait," Capella added. "We have food for only two more days."

"And no wine left at all," Gemma reminded Spica impishly.

"We agreed to test the shield on the ﬁrst ship we would meet," Regulus said ﬁrmly. Antares having pronounced the anti-detection shield completed, they'd left their hideout three days ago, setting course for the nearest food supply base.

"But if the thing doesn't work, they'll shoot!" The mere fact that nobody agreed with him never stopped Spica arguing.

Gemma shrugged. "If it doesn't work, we're ﬁnished anyway." Better get it over with - one way or the other.

"I linked an alarm to our sensors that will register any detector probe," Antares said. "It should cut in about... now."

An ear-piercing sound ﬁlled the flight deck. Gemma automatically raised her hands to protect her ears.

Antares leant over her chair to flip a switch on her console. The sound stopped.

"That's terrible," Spica said. "It gave me a headache!"

"Yes, well," Antares observed smoothly, "it had to be loud enough to wake you up."

Gemma joined in Regulus and Deneb's laughter.

"Very funny!" Spica mumbled.

"The patrol's maintaining course," Capella said, her eyes still on her monitor. "They don't appear to have noticed us."

"Of course they haven‘t," Antares said. "The shield's keeping us off their detectors."

"Continuing their course," Capella reported. "They're past out of detector range."

Gemma let out a deep breath. "That‘s great!" Spica exclaimed. "It means we can roam space undetected."

"But we must avoid places where they know us," Gemma said.

Antares stepped from his position. "Yes."

"Why?" Spica asked, following him to the lounge chairs.

Deneb joined them. "Because if the authorities learn we're still alive, they'll want to arrest and prosecute us."

"Something so obvious even Deneb can grasp it," Antares told Spica.

Gemma shot Antares a furious glance, then caught Deneb's good-natured shrug. How she wished that one day Deneb would lose his patience and strangle Antares!

"For this same reason we can't show the ship anywhere," Capella remarked.

"With Antares's shield, that's not necessary," Spica pointed out. "ORION can stay safely in orbit while we use the shuttle for landing and ferrying the goods."

"Within a star system, yes," Antares said. “But don't forget that in between them, we have insufﬁcient power to keep the shield working."

Gemma didn't see the problem. "So we'll follow the least frequented lanes and only activate the shield when necessary."

Regulus rose from his seat. "We'll have to set up a new network, ﬁnd new customers."

"That won't be a problem," Antares said. "There's a demand for tax-free luxury goods all over the galaxy."

"And for weapons," Capella added. "Resistance movements against the Federation are springing up everywhere."

A thought occurred to Gemma: "With ORION made invisible, we no longer need a legitimate cargo, to give us an alibi for running a freighter. We can refurnish the main hold Into cabins, so we can each have a place of our own."

Lack of privacy was ORION's only drawback. Three bunks were build into a sidewall and the lounge chairs could be folded out to serve as beds, but neither facility provided much privacy or comfort.

"A splendid idea," Antares said.

It wasn't often he found cause for praise. She playfully lifted an eyebrow at him. "One you should have thought of?"

He mimicked the gesture. She thought she saw a glimmer in his dark eyes. "Naturally." The satisfaction about his achievement must have brought him in a better mood than usual.

"Let's first get our business back on line," Regulus said. "Then we'll see."

*******

It went better than expected. Within six months they had found new contacts and their smuggling trade was ﬂourishing. They converted the main hold into six large cabins, using prefab material ordered from a supplier. Gemma was elated. No longer need she wait for shore leave for stolen moments together with Regulus. She could sneak to his cabin whenever she wanted. He never came to hers, respecting her privacy, but was always welcoming when she presented herself.

As they settled into a pleasant routine, the years went by. On their journeys between the solar systems, where they couldn't keep up the anti-detection shield, they avoided the space lanes as much as possible. Inevitably they sometimes ran into the path of another vessel, but on the sensor's warning they activated the shield and got out of the vessel's way as quickly as possible.

"Why don't you connect the shield to the sensor," Spica suggested after one occurrence, "so it will be automatically activated?" He rubbed his head. "And we don't need that head-splitting din to warn us to ﬂip the switch!"

Antares left his seat. "Because that way it might take too long to switch the shield off again. Or do you want to end up with insufficient power for us to manoeuvre the ship or keep the life support systems running?"

Gemma checked the instruments. "We're three quarters down right now." She always grew uneasy when the banks fell below the half-full mark. Being stranded in space was her worst nightmare.

"We'll stop at the nearest system to recharge," Regulus said.

Gemma nodded, relieved.

*******

They grew older and richer. Spica and Antares began to speak about retirement. They went on extended holidays, but always returned in the end. Deneb seemed to have no need for a break. Capella, who was still much of an enigma to Gemma, began to spend more and more time in her cabin. Getting curious, Gemma barged into her cabin one day on a pretext, to ﬁnd her sitting cross-legged on her bunk, deep in meditation. It seemed a waste of time to Gemma, but since it kept Capella out of Regulus's way, she was happy to let her continue.

She made some tentative suggestions to Regulus about settling down somewhere but stopped when she found him unresponsive. So they all stayed, squabbling most of the time but not really unhappy.

With more money and space, Gemma began to make serious work of her wardrobe, going on a shopping spree whenever the occasion arose. She liked to try out new clothes, especially those guaranteed to evoke a caustic remark from Antares. Regrettably Regulus never seemed to notice what she wore, but that was something she'd learned to live with. On the whole, she was content with her life aboard ORION.

*******

One morning when they had gathered on the flight deck for breakfast, Capella produced a small audio player. "You must hear this. | taped it last evening."

"Well, what is it?" Antares asked, lowering himself into one of the lounge chairs.

"THE INVISIBLE WORLD, it's an IBC audio cast program about strange and supernatural occurrences."

"IBC?" Spica asked.

"The Independent Broadcasting Corporation," Regulus said. "They‘re a neutral channel, based on Destiny."

Gemma was more interested in Capella‘s choice of topic to listen to. "The occult?"

"There's more to life than what you can see, Gemma," Capella remarked.

Deneb reached for the kettle and poured hot water over the concentrated food in his bowl. "It can do no harm to keep an open mind."

"That shouldn't be a problem with one as gaping as yours," Antares mumbled.

Spica took the kettle from Deneb. "I hope it isn't some hair-raising ghost story, Capella, to put me off my breakfast."

Antares eyed Spica's choice of flavours with disdain. "Warg-strangler and banana would put ANYONE off their food."

"Let‘s hear it," Regulus said.

Capella put the player on the table. "I only started taping it when I realised what it was about, so the introduction's missing."

"l imagine we'll be able to live with that," Antares said.

Casting him a look of patient indulgence, Capella switched on the recorder.

"...scientifically explained," a male voice said. "But a space mirage does not disappear after a few seconds. Besides, for a space mirage to occur, an object resembling the one seen has to be present behind the 'space horizon'. In the dozen cases we have studied, this was not the case."

Spica yawned. "Are they getting to the point?"

"Shut up," Gemma told him. She was beginning to see where this would lead to.

"During the last twelve years," the announcer said, "a space ship has been putting in brief appearances all over the Eighth and Ninth Sectors. On each occasion it disappeared within seconds, but not before being picked up by the witnesses' scanners."

"That's us!" Spica exclaimed.

"The interval between our sensors picking up the other ship and the switching on of the shield," Antares said.

Capella nodded. "The same moment our sensors register them, theirs register ORION."

Regulus held up his hand: "Quiet!"

"This mysterious ship," the announcer was saying, "has been identiﬁed as the Nomad Class Freighter ORION. On one occasion the phenomenon lasted long enough for the witnessing craft to take a long-range picture..."

"That must have been the time Spica had fallen asleep on watch," Antares observed.

The accused glared at him. "Wasn't my fault! The sudden din made me fall from the lounger. You try to run to the control panel with a broken ankle!"

Deneb gave a good-natured grin. "Oh, come on, Spica, it was only a slight sprain."

"It HURT!"

"Silence!" Regulus said.

"...clear we're dealing with the same vessel in each and every case. But..." the announcer began to speak more slowly, emphasising every word, "NCF ORION was destroyed twelve years ago by the Terran Federation Space Fleet. She was caught smuggling and shot down while trying to ﬂee."

"So that's how they interpret our so-called self-destruction," Antares observed.

"If the patrol chasing us reported they shot us down, Space Command would have no cause to doubt them," Regulus said.

"...impossible that the ship has survived," the announcer was continuing. "So the only conclusion to draw from this is that we are dealing here with a real supernatural phenomenon. A ghost ship, haunting space after its destruction."

"Did you hear that?" Spica began to grin. "A ghost ship - we've become a legend!"

Capella switched off the player. "We must take care. If ORION‘s seen too often, people will get suspicious."

"Not as long as Space Command maintains we've been destroyed," Regulus said.

Deneb nodded. "The military have simple minds."

Seeing Antares about to target this open goal, Gemma said quickly: "They‘re not going to listen to ramblings about ghost ships."

Spica leant back in his chair. "So we're safe. Nobody wants to go in search of ghosts."

For once, Gemma was inclined to agree with him.

*******

"You know," Spica said one day, clearing away the remnants of their evening meal. "Next week it will be thirty years since we became a ghost ship."

Thirty years! It might well be true. Gemma preferred to ignore things like her recurring birthday, and the messages about the passing of time sent out by her body.

"This calls for a celebration." Any occasion served for Spica.

"Does it?" Antares enquired icily.

"Why not?" Deneb said. "I like a party."

"Better wait until we've delivered our consignment," Gemma suggested. They were carrying guns and explosives to the rebels on the planet Verre, one of the outermost Terran colonies. She was never happy about shipping explosives. "The sooner we're rid of this cargo, the better!"

"The explosives are safe as long as they aren't primed," Antares said. "And even then you need an electronic trigger sign to set them off."

Not in the least reassured, she cast him an angry glance. "If you say so."

Capella rose gracefully from her chair. "The rebels on Verre need the weapons urgently."

"We can party while we travel," Deneb said.

"Yeah." Spica nodded. "Then we can have another party on the way back, to celebrate the safe delivery."

"All right." Regulus rose and moved to his ﬂight seat - it was his watch. "We'll hold the celebration on the day itself. The catering won't be a problem, we should have plenty In stock."

Verre being at the rim of the galaxy, they'd laid in extra supplies. And, Gemma reﬂected sourly, Spica would have made sure to have stocked up plenty of booze.

*******

Gemma couldn't get into the party mood. A bit angrily she watched Regulus, who stood talking animatedly with Antares and Spica. The three of them burst out in laughter. How she begrudged him his easy-going manner and ability to 'have fun with the boys'. She knew the glass in his hand, like hers, held fruit juice. Spica's would be something alcoholic and Antares's a sorbet. She remembered Regulus observing one day, when Antares had left on holiday and she'd been voicing her doubt about his return: "Oh, he'll be back as long as we keep enough ice cream for him in stock." Like all foodstuffs, it came in powder form, but had to be mixed with ice-cold water instead of hot.

In two adjacent lounge chairs Deneb and Capella sat talking earnestly. Then Capella rose and strode over to Regulus's group, apparently eager to share the joke. Gemma sat down at the place vacated by Capella.

"You don't seem to be enjoying yourself." She'd noticed Deneb being subdued all through the evening.

"I don't feel well." He brought his hand to his head. "I can't seem to get rid of this headache."

"Did you try a painkiller?"

"Yes." He gave a tired smile, and Gemma noticed how grey he looked. "The doctor taking his own medicine." Having worked as a paramedic, Deneb was the only one among them with any medical knowledge.

Deneb rose. "l'd better turn in. An early night will get me right again." He cast a glance at their crewmates, still in animated conversation. "They won't miss me anyway. Good night."

"Sleep well," she said, wishing she could follow his example. But it was her turn for the night watch - she had a long stretch ahead of her yet.

She watched Deneb leave the flight deck, then determinedly went to join the others. It was time Regulus started to take notice of her!

For the rest of the evening she stayed at his side. When at last they broke up the party and went to their cabins, she remained on the deck, grateful for the quietness and solitude. Occasionally checking the instruments, she sat out her watch. Nothing disturbed the soft humming of the systems. All was well.

At long last the clock, keeping to Standard Earth Time, jumped to 06.00. The end of her watch. She rose, glad to be relieved soon. But nobody came. She angrily went to check the rostrum to see who was supposed to relieve her. Must be Spica - he usually needed to be kicked into wakefulness. No, it was Deneb, who was always punctual...

She went to the communicator Antares had installed after the construction of their cabins. "Deneb."

No reply. He might be in the bathroom. She waited ﬁve minutes, then tried again. Still getting no reply, she changed the channel: "Regulus. REGULUS!"

A groan. He never was at his best at the break of dawn.

"Deneb's due for watch but he hasn't turned up," Gemma reported. "You'd better go and check that he's all right. He wasn't feeling well last night."

Another groan. "All right." The connection was cut.

All very well, but she wanted to be relieved. By now she was in need of a hot bath followed by a long sleep. She checked the autopilot again, made sure there was nothing alarming on the scanners, and made for the cabins. If Deneb was unwell, Regulus should assign his watch to someone else.

She found the others gathered at the door of Deneb's cabin. Spica, looking the worse for wear, was prodding with a probe in the lock.

"He's locked his door," Capella said.

"Hurry, Spica," Regulus urged.

"I'm doing my best. it‘s not easy, you know, when I keep seeing two locks."

lmpatiently Gemma waited with the others, until the lock clicked and Spica stepped aside, pulling the door open.

Regulus went in. "Deneb..." His voice trailed off.

Gemma followed him in, the others on her heels. Deneb was lying on his bunk, on his left side, a blanket half over him. For a moment Gemma was relieved to see his eyes were open, then the meaning of the body's unnatural stillness hit her.

"He's dead," she heard Spica whisper.

"And has been for hours, by the look of him." Antares tried to lift the body's hand that held the blanket. "Rigor mortis--"

His voice was drowned out by the alarm screeching through the ship.

Gemma saw his mouth form the words: "The sensors!"

They rushed from the cabin. Beating her to the switch, Regulus activated the shield. "Get us out of here, Gemma," he yelled. She fell into her seat and switched off the autopilot. Taking a grip on the steering column, she studied the half-circle of dots on her screen.

"It's a whole fleet," Antares exclaimed, gliding into his seat.

"Federation," Capella said. "Battle ships, cruisers, pursuit ships, everything!"

"What the hell are they doing here?"Antares breathed.

"Manoeuvres?" Regulus suggested.

"In the middle of nowhere?" Spica asked.

Gemma applied maximum speed. Elated, she felt ORION react to her commands. The pursuit ships were moving fast, trying a pincer movement to encircle ORION. She had to apply maximum power to keep out of their grasp.

"Switch the shield off!" Antares shouted.

"Not yet." She held on to her course. "We‘re still in range."

"Never mind that!" He leant over her chair, reaching for the button "Turn it off!"

Not wanting to lose her grip on the steering column, she tried to shove him away with her shoulder. He kept coming. Incensed, she put her teeth in his arm. Cursing, he pulled his arm free.

"We are out of their sensor range," Capella reported from her position.

"Shield off," Regulus said.

Gemma punched the button. "I'll make a wide turn to get us back on course."

"If you can," Antares hissed from behind her.

"What do you mean?" Regulus asked.

"Our power's gone." Antares's voice sounded ﬂat. "We've exhausted the energy banks."

Her spine going cold, Gemma stared at the readings on her console. Antares was right, the energy reserve dial had gone into the red. As from afar, she heard the voices of the others.  
  
Spica: "But we're still moving!"

Antares: "Oh yes. And because of our forward velocity, we will continue to do so - out towards deep space. But we have no power to manoeuvre us into the direction of a sun."

"You mean we're doomed?" Spica again, now on the brink of panic. "That can't be!"

"Antares is right, Spica." Capella's voice was unusually gentle. "We need a sun to regain power, but we need power to head for a sun."

"No," Regulus roared. "We won‘t give up that easily! Gemma, try turning the ship."

Forcing herself out of her trance, she obeyed. The ship did not. "I'm sorry, Regulus. The drive's dead."

"Then so are we!" Spica exclaimed.

"Try the auxiliaries."

Did he think her a moron? "I already did."

"It's no use, Regulus." Antares stepped from his position. "We're lost."

"No," Regulus repeated. "We can use the shuttle to nudge ORION in the right direction."

"That's a hell of a risk,"Antares said.

"I have every confidence in Gemma," Regulus replied.

A glow of warmth filling her guts, she hurried to the shuttle hold. The others followed her, as if there was safety in numbers.

Designed for the transportation of goods, the shuttle had only two seats, for the pilot and the cargo handler. But this flight she would perform alone. The last thing she needed on the delicate task was a companion to distract her. She climbed in, sat down and reached for her safety harness.

"Wait!" Antares called.

Leaning out of the doorway, Gemma saw him squat down at the rear.

Antares rose, holding up a thin cable. "The power feed was still attached."

"Spica," Gemma hissed. It was his task to recharge the shuttle‘s power bank after each ﬂight. He was wont to complain about the strenuous effort although it didn't amount to more than connecting and disconnecting the feed cable from ORION's banks.

"Not my fault," he mumbled, shuffling away from the group. To Regulus he added: "You called me away to help you with the stowing of the victuals, remember. Deneb hurt his hand and you told me to take his place and him to keep an eye on the recharging. Anyway, there's no harm done."

"Let's hope so," Antares said. "Gemma, check the power."

His tone made the glow in her innards turn to ice. Aware of Regulus and Capella's sudden alarm, she checked the dials. All were at zero. Hoping against hope, she tried to start the engine. No reaction. Defeated, she shook her head.

"The OAF!" Capella said.

Spica looked bewildered. "What's the matter?"

"We're lost." Gemma jumped from the shuttle; it would never ﬂy again.

Spica shook his head. "I don't understand."

"Through that cable the connection with ORION's power banks was left open!" Antares said.

"And when we activated the shield, it drained the power from the shuttle as well as ORION's banks," Regulus added.

Spica visibly paled. "You mean we can't use the shuttle?"

"It's as dead as ORION," Antares replied.

"What about the life support systems’?" Capella asked. "They'll have switched over automatically to their emergency power cells," Antares said. "Which will last about three months."

"And food?"

"About six months, seven if we stretch it." Antares gave a wry smile. "Which is academic if in three months we run out of water to prepare the food."

"Not to mention lack of oxygen," Spica added. "Difﬁcult to eat when you can't breath."

Regulus's face lit up. "What if we redirect all the life support systems' power to the drive system?"

Antares shook his head. "It won't be enough by far! Those systems are largely operating under their own steam, to coin an ancient expression."

Spica stared at them, fear shining in his puppy-eyes. "You mean we're really lost? No, please NO!"

"We must be brave," Capella said.

Regulus banged his ﬁst on his console. "We will NOT give up hope. We have three months to think of something."

"If you insist on dying the optimist," Antares mumbled.

"Why not send out a distress call?" Spica suggested.

Another thing she‘d already contemplated: "Because nobody's going to respond this far out."

"Except for that Federation fleet," Regulus said.

"Who'll be happy to use ORION for target practising," Antares added.

"Or take us to Earth to stand trial," Capella said.

"They won't be here forever," Spica pointed out. "We‘ll wait until they've gone, then send the signal."

"By which time we'll be too far out for anyone to reach us in time." Antares gave him a withering glance. "We're still going at top speed."

Gemma tried to clutch to Regulus's hope. "So, we'll have to help ourselves."

"Why delude yourselves?" Antares spat. "We're going to die!"

Regulus went to stand right in front of him, locking gazes: "We WILL keep up our spirits."

"Right." Spica began to move to the door. "I'm going to my cabin. I laid in three dozen bottles of Chateau Excellence, and I'm not going to let them go to waste."

"Wait, Spica," Antares said, turning his eyes away from Regulus's. "We'll have to deal with Deneb's body first."

With a shock Gemma realised she'd forgotten all about their crewmate's death. She felt as if in a dream - a nightmare from which she would wake shortly. "That's the least of our worries."

"It will soon become a major one if we leave him there," Antares retorted.

Capella nodded. "We must dispose of the body, give him a space burial."

In the doorway, Spica frowned. "I don't know. Somehow it seems wrong to dump him."

Gemma found herself agreeing. "We've been so long together."

Antares produced an icy smile. "Yes, I've always expected him to do something stupid that would cause our deaths. It's ironic that he managed it posthumously."

Gemma felt outraged: "Don't blame Deneb!"

"Yeah, it's all your fault, Antares," Spica said. "If you'd been able to build a proper shield, that didn't eat all our power--"

"Enough!" Regulus roared. "Let's stick to the matter in hand."

"Why not put him on ice, in the resuscitation capsule?" Antares suggested. Then we can decide later. Or leave him there."

"That's very clever," Spica said scornfully. "How are we going to freeze him without power?"

"The capsule has its own emergency system. Enough to get the process started. Once completed it doesn't need any power." Antares produced an icy smile. "Unless you want to keep opening the capsule to do a regular check on him."

"It's a good idea." Regulus began to move to the door. "Let's get it over with."

Gemma hurried after him. "I'll come with you."

The feeling of unreality stayed with her while she helped to place Deneb's body in the capsule. Built for the average person, it was hardly big enough to hold him. She cast a last, sad look on the pale, still face before Regulus closed the lid. In death, as in life, Deneb looked calm and composed.

*******

Regulus adapted their watch schedule and they followed the ship's routine, albeit in a strange, detached way. AS IF WE'RE REAL GHOSTS, Gemma reflected, suddenly struck by their futile persistence of normality. Here they were, speeding into oblivion, yet they were acting as if their time wasn't running out!

Spica spent most of his time in his cabin, seeking forgetfulness in his drinks. He had to be hauled forcefully out to perform his watch duty. Although he seemed in a perpetual state of inebriation, he was never fully incapacitated, making Gemma suspect he was taking in less than he pretended.

Capella had thrown herself into meditation. She would choose the flight deck rather than the privacy of her cabin for her relaxation exercises, spending large quantities of time just sitting cross-legged with her eyes closed. At ﬁrst Gemma was unnerved by her presence, but soon she got used to the silent ﬁgure on the lounge chair, even feeling grateful for the company at times.

With the passing of time even Regulus's optimism began to show cracks. Gemma became wary of visiting his cabin. More and more she got the feeling of mating with a stranger. Or a zombie, his body was there but his mind elsewhere. His unwillingness to share his thoughts with her hurt her deeply.

The only one to continue as usual was Antares. It made Gemma very suspicious. She'd always judged him to be the one with the strongest sense for survival. If he'd been on a liner carrying 2000 passengers and only one survival suit, she'd expect Antares to be the one getting hold of the suit in an emergency. Had he thought of a way to save his own life? She began to watch him covertly, but could find nothing suspicious in his actions. On Regulus's suggestion, he was performing a string of scientiﬁc experiments into deep-space travel. They must make the most of their time, Regulus had said. One day ORION might be found, and others beneﬁt from their experiments.

Vlﬁth six-hour watch periods, they found their stints circulating from morning, afternoon, evening and night watch. As could be expected, Spica had been protesting, arguing that with nothing out there to bump into, they didn't need to keep watch. Regulus had shut him up, more brusquely than usual, pointing out that with them travelling into the unknown, keeping a sharp lookout was of the utmost importance.

One early morning Gemma left her cabin to take over Antares's watch. She yawned, trying to keep her eyes open. The nights were the worst, alone in her cabin their pending death seemed more real than when she was busy on the flight deck. She'd spent half the night deliberating about going to visit Regulus or not. She longed for his embrace, but dreaded his aloofness. In the end she'd decided not to risk a rejection, but by then she had to resort to a relaxation-pad to bring her to sleep. She must have misjudged the dose because she still felt half-asleep.

She entered the ﬂight deck, expecting to see Antares working on one of the consoles. Strange, he wasn't there. Well, she was late - he must have gone to his cabin on the dot of six. But it wasn't like him; he usually waited for his relief, if only to give the latecomer the beneﬁt of his acid wit.

With the drive systems down there was little point in checking the instruments. The emergency lighting gave off a soft glow, just enough to see by. It was eerily silent, with only the near inaudible humming of the life support systems. Suddenly her eye caught a red light on the airlock door. It must be on emergency power. She hurried to the airlock. The light indicated that the outer door must be open.

What? Why? She tried to shift her sleepy brain into gear. "Antares?" Then she saw a piece of paper on the lounge table. She picked it up, noticing the lines in Antares's neat hand without taking them in. Paper in her hand, she strode to the wall communicator. "Regulus!"

The panic in her voice brought not only him, but also the others to the flight deck. Judging by their speed, none of them could have been asleep.

Finding herself stuck for words, she handed the paper to Regulus.

"This is to tell you," he read aloud, "that I've decided to take matters into my own hands. I've come to the conclusion there is no point in waiting for the inevitable. Better end it quickly and spare myself prolonged suffering. Antares. PS. l have never gone in for sentimental farewells and don't see any reason for it now."

Regulus lowered the paper. Gemma was shocked by his sudden pallor.

Spica pointed at the red light. "You mean he jumped from the airlock?"

"A brave deed," Capella said.

"I should have seen this coming," Regulus whispered.

Gemma took his arm. "It's not your fault. Antares made his choice."

"But if I had been more alert, I might have been able to stop him." He turned his face away.

"Why would you want to stop him?" Spica asked. "He's right, you know, we're only prolonging our misery."

"Antares was a courageous man," Capella said. "We must honour his decision."

"Yes." Gemma held on to Regulus's arm. "Remember our agreement: anyone could opt out at any time. Antares chose this moment. The decision was his, and his alone to make." Feeling the rigidity of his muscles, she added: "He knew what he was doing. You must accept his choice."

"Yes." He turned his head to her and she felt him slightly relax. "But it is such a WASTE! We have another six weeks."

At the time she was just relieved to ﬁnd him responding. It was only later, that evening when she was lying in her bunk facing another sleepless night, that his words started echoing in her head: "We have another six weeks." It wasn't like Antares to give up halfway. Why kill himself now, while there was still time and hope? When facing death, six weeks can seem a lifetime - she knew, it did to her! Why not wait until their water and oxygen ran out? They'd have plenty of warning of that, he'd have time to step out before the 'suffering' started.

He must have acted in a sudden bout of despondency. But no, this wasn't a deed done at the spur of the moment - the letter was too composed for that. It was premeditated, carefully prepared and thought over. But stepping out into space wasn't like Antares. She'd expect him to take an overdose form the medical supplies, something to painlessly make him drift into eternal sleep.

Sleep. Sleep... Something stirred at the back of her brain. Again she saw Deneb's tranquil face when they placed him in the resuscitation capsule-- The resuscitation capsule had a cryogenic facility! It was a standard facility in spacecraft, to preserve a crew member who got seriously ill during a voyage until they could reach medical help. In the capsule a body could survive for hundreds, thousands of years! Long enough for the ORION to reach another galaxy, where she might come upon a civilisation able to recognise the cryogenic process and revive the occupant.

It was Antares who'd suggested they put Deneb's body in the resuscitation capsule - Antares, who could think on his feet in a crisis. He'd even warned them not to reopen the capsule!

Gemma jumped from her bunk, threw a tunic over her head and left her cabin. Careful not to make any sound, she made her way to the resuscitation capsule. It was situated in a corner behind the pantry and the food storage section. Taking a deep breath, Gemma opened the lid.  
  
Although she was prepared, it still came as a shock to see her suspicions confirmed. For a moment she just stared at the haughty face, the closed eyes still giving the impression of looking down the large nose. Antares must have dumped Deneb's body from the airlock. The cryogenic capsule was automated, to accommodate solo travellers. All he'd had to do was climb inside and pull the lid. The only risk he'd run was bumping into someone while getting Deneb's body to the airlock. The capsule, pantry, and flight deck were all on the same level, so all he'd had to do was drag the stiffly frozen body along.

Angrily she closed the lid. She was not going to let him get away with it! The pantry had two exits, the left one leading to the ﬂight deck and the other to the main hold and their cabins. She turned to the left one - Regulus was on watch - but stopped after two paces. In his relief that Antares was still with them, he might want to respect his decision. She was not going to let that happen! Better not tell anyone about Antares's betrayal.

For a moment she contemplated following his example, faking her own suicide and taking his place. But she had no intention to betray her comrades on the off chance of survival in an alien galaxy. If they had to face the end, they would all do so together.

In one thing Antares had been right, though - it was no use to wait for a slow, suffocating death. Suddenly she knew she couldn't face another six weeks of denial and pointless routine. They had enough explosives on board to blow up twenty ORIONs. Better go out with a bang. The more she thought about it, the more determined she became. She would destroy the ship. Have it over in a wink, mercifully quick - and take Antares with them!

She must act with care, not give a hint of her intention to anyone! The explosives were stowed away securely in the hold, together with the other weapons. She must get them out without the others noticing. A task to perform during her night watch, while the others were in their cabins, slumbering with the aid of sleeping pads.

Then she had to ﬁnd a place to put the explosives where nobody would stumble upon them... Gemma smiled - the perfect place was here, in front of her. In contrast to Deneb, Antares was a man of below average height and weight, which left room in the capsule for kilos of explosives.

For the next two weeks she dedicated her night watches to getting the explosives in place. The discs were tightly packed, in ten packages of forty per packet. She removed two discs from each packet, then wrapped the packets up again in order not to leave any trace of tampering. Luckily each packet contained instructions on how to prime the disks. Ten remote controls were packed separately, each with its own power cell. Gemma took two, in case the first should prove faulty.

Ironically, the capsule was the ideal spot for the explosives, virtually in the centre of the ship; the placement would ensure ORION's total destruction.

At last the task was done. With a sigh of relief Gemma closed the lid of the resuscitation capsule for the last time - placing the explosives around the frozen body had not been a pleasant task. She took one of the remote controls from her pocket, then put it back. She would wait until the others were up. They would have one last meal together.

Tiptoeing, she returned to the ﬂight deck to sit out the rest of her watch. She felt calm and controlled. Her gaze fell on the calendar - another Friday the thirteenth. Gemma smiled grimly to herself, this seemed fitting, considering it had all begun on a Friday the thirteenth when the customs raid had forced them to sham self-destruction.

In due time the others turned up for breakfast. To Spica's indignation, Regulus had insisted on them all taking part in the meals. Having ﬁnished every drop of alcohol on the ship had fouled Spica's temper, and his moaning had become almost unbearable. Capella had retreated into a world of her own; she hardly spoke and seemed to be continually meditating. Only Regulus seemed desperate to keep the semblance of normality up.

Gemma sat silent. ﬁnding herself unable to come up with anything to say. Suddenly unable to stand the stress any longer, she reached for the remote control in her pocket. Quickly, without giving herself time to change her mind, she pressed the button.

A blinding flash, then darkness and oblivion.

*******  
*********


	3. The Case of the Vanished Doctor (Gan)

With a slight feeling of unease Gan saw Jenna go through the ORION door. He'd expected them to stay together; he wasn't keen on having to play the mystery game on his own.

"Bellair Hospital," he heard Blake say. Turning, he saw him point at the sign above the opposite door. "Yours, Gan."

"Yes." Shaking off his unease, he pushed the door open. "See you later."

The corridor he entered was dark, only lit by the chink of light coming from the door that stood ajar at the end. This cloak-and-dagger stuff seemed a bit childish! But then, the venue was advertised as a Mystery GAME. They had paid to be entertained, so he'd better get into the mood.

He reached the far door, pushed it open and went in. The door fell shut behind him. He was in a cubicle that held a desk and a chair and had room for very little else. On the desk were a computer and a framed picture of a fair, pretty woman - his deceased wife. As always, the sight of her picture, with the sweet smile and long wavy hair, brought a stab of pain. He sat down at the desk, rubbing his forehead, and activated the computer. He was tired. It had been a busy morning, dealing with the victims of that horrible monorail crash. it was always the same: lack of maintenance leading to accidents, and at the hospital they could pick up the pieces, without proper equipment.

He'd have liked to take lunch in the canteen, but he needed to have the administration of his morning's work done before the start of his afternoon surgery, so he'd asked that pretty young probationer to fetch him a plate from the canteen.

Collecting his thoughts, he began to enter the data in the computer. While typing he felt a movement of air. That must be the girl with his lunch.

"That was quick." He turned, smiling. "Put the tray on the--" He fell silent. Two men - strangers - stood in the cubicle. Although dressed in the local fashion, they stood out like a bump on a bald head. Their legs beneath the knee-length trousers were milk-white, as were their bare forearms - those skins had never been subjected to the Zephron sun.

"Are you doctor Gaul?" the dark-haired man in the green-and-gold tunic asked, leaning against the door.

"Yes." Of course he was doctor Oliver Gaul - who else should he be!

"You are needed, doctor," the man continued.

His companion, mousy-haired and in a bright red tunic, nodded. "Urgently."

"Please get your emergency bag," the ﬁrst man said.

Gaul took the bag from its place under his desk. There must have been another accident. It wasn't unusual for him to be called out to the scene of a crash, if the understaffed and underfunded emergency services were employed elsewhere.

The mousy-haired man held out his hand. "l'm Phil."

Gaul changed the bag to his left hand and shook Phil's hand. Hand still outstretched, he turned to the other. Suddenly something - a ring? - was shoved on his little ﬁnger. His surroundings blurred. Before he had time to protest, Gaul found himself in the back seat of a ﬂyer! His abductors sat hemming him in. In the front seat a blond woman sat at the controls.

"Go, Jedina!" the dark-haired man shouted. The ﬂyer took off at full speed before Gaul could shove his captors aside and jump out. He felt something sticking in his side. A gun? "Don't," the dark-haired man said.

Better bide his time. "What is this? If you're thinking of ransoming me, I warn you I have no money and no relatives."

"We're not after your money,"the dark-haired man said.

"Nah, we're not into kidnapping,“ Phil remarked. "Brendan wouldn't allow it."

"We need you to treat a friend of ours," the woman - Jedina said over her shoulder. "He's in a bad way."

"A very bad way," Phil observed.

"Help us, and you will come to no harm," Jedina promised.

Gaul relaxed somewhat. If they needed him, they would hesitate to kill him. Better not take any chances, though. The gun or whatever was still sticking in his side. "How did I get here?"

Phil gave a sudden grin. "Feeling a bit queasy, are you? Can't blame you, it had that effect on me too, the ﬁrst time. We brought you out by teleportation." He waved a hand at the dark-haired man. "One of Alan's inventions - would be really useful if he could make it work over a longer distance than 600 metres."

"Teleportation?" It seemed incredible. "I didn't know it existed."

"Nobody does, except for us," Alan said smugly. "And we like to keep it that way! Phil, see if there is something in the doctor's case to blindfold him with. We don't want him to be able to tell our destination."

Gaul found himself still clutching his bag. For a moment he contemplated knocking the diminutive looking Phil out with it. But he couldn't jump out as long as they were in the air. Resignedly he handed over the bag.

Phil found the bandage roll and made a good job of binding it over Gaul's eyes. But the fools weren't taking any notice of the sun. They'd been flying to the East, but now he could feel the flyer make a wide turn, with the sun changing from his right arm to his back, and then shining on his left arm. So now they were heading West, towards the swamps. He hoped they knew what they were doing. Select the wrong landing place and they could be swallowed by the quicksand. Better not dwell on that. If these thugs were hiding out in the swamps, it would put him in the advantage. Gaul had spent his childhood holidays there, accompanying his father who'd been a keen bird-watcher. (The swamps were renowned for their bird-life.) Gaul knew how to negotiate the swamps - where it was safe to walk and which places to avoid.

They flew on in silence. At last Gaul felt the ﬂyer descend. He held his breath until a soft thud signalled the flyer‘s landing on metal. Well, at least they had the sense not to try a landing on the treacherous ground.

The bandage was ripped from his eyes. "Out!" Alan ordered. Blinking against the sudden light, Gaul obeyed, following Phil who'd swiftly alighted. His heart leaped - he knew this place! They'd landed on the roof of the houseboat used by bird-watchers in the migration-season. The rest of the year it stayed empty, the perfect hideout.

Careful not to let on he knew the layout, Gaul let himself be directed through the hatch and down the stairs into the living room. Before descending, he caught a glimpse of Phil and Jedina manoeuvring a camouﬂage net over the flyer. Waving his gun, Alan hurried him along to a corner of the room, where a man was lying on a camp bed. Next to the bed, a woman sat on a folding chair.

The woman jumped up. She was very thin, her Zephron clothes hung around her in ample folds. The hazel eyes in her worried face, framed by an abundance of brown curls, lit up. "So you've got him."

"Yes." Alan holstered his gun. "Aurora is a crack at unarmed combat, doctor. So don't think of doing anything stupid!"

Ignoring him, Gaul walked over to the man. "l take it this is the patient?"

Aurora nodded. "Brendan. It's his shoulder."

The man was unconscious, the eyes in the strong, willful face closed. His breath came in laborious gaps. Gaul didn't need a thermometer to know the man had a high fever; drops of sweat glistered between the dark curls on his forehead.

Helped by Aurora, Gaul removed the primitive bandage. It was saturated with pus and the smell made him almost gag. He turned to Aurora. "This man has a serious infection. He should be in hospital."

"No!" Alan drew his gun. "You will treat him here."

"I don't think there's need for threats, Alan." Recognising the other woman's voice, Gaul turned his head. His two other captors had entered. Jedina moved to the bed while Phil, looking queasy, stayed at the foot of the stairs.

Gaul squared his shoulders. "As a doctor, it is my duty to treat each patient to the best of my abilities. This man is in a bad state. He will be more comfortable in a hospital than under my ministrations. If you insist I will treat him here, but the infection is far gone. I cannot guarantee he will pull through."

"Oh, he will, doctor," Alan said darkly.

Gaul returned his stare. "if he does, recovery will be a slow process and he will need my care until the wound has healed completely."

He saw the message get home. Alan holstered his gun again. "Just do your job, doctor."

Good, he had bought himself some time. It must not be difficult to escape at the right moment. Escape would be his only road to survival. This man and his cronies must be criminals - Gaul could recognise a gunshot wound when he saw one. This meant they couldn't afford to let him go and risk him shopping them to the police. When he was of no further use to them, they'd kill him. But for now he had a job to concentrate on. Under the scrutiny of the others he set to work. Aurora made a competent assistant, and with her help he cut away the infected tissue, then cleaned and re-bandaged the wound. Despite the sedative, the patient groaned throughout the process.

"This is a good sign," Gaul said. "It means he isn't in a deep coma. He will probably come round quite soon."

"You have our thanks," Aurora said.

Gaul turned away from the bed. "And now I'd like to wash my hands..." Just in time he remembered he was not supposed to know where the facilities were. He broke off his movement to the bathroom door, instead dividing a questioning look between Alan and Phil.

The latter, leaning against the stairs, gestured at the aft door. "Through there, Doc."

"And don't think of escaping through the window," Alan drawled. "It's covered by a reinforced steel mesh."

He knew. All windows were protected that way. It was to prevent the birds caught for marking from escaping. Gaul nodded, trying to look dejected.

*******

The patient came round in the afternoon of the following day. The fever had gone down and it seemed to Gaul the man had indeed a reasonable chance of pulling through. Brendan was very weak and confused, though, and didn't seem to recognise his surroundings or friends.

Gaul remained a prisoner, carefully watched by his captors. Privacy was scarce on the houseboat, which only had the one living room, the bathroom aft and the kitchen up front. in the kitchen, fresh water was pumped up from a well deep under the marsh, still the same as it had been done in his youth. Energy was derived from the solar panels on the roof of the boat.  
  
Life on the boat was primitive. They slept on the ﬂoor, on sleeping mats and pillows from the boat's stockpile. Brendan's camp bed, two folding tables and some chairs were the only furniture in the boat. it was clear the gang were used to a more comfortable lifestyle, but Gaul was surprised how well they coped. They seemed to have brought enough concentrated food not to have to worry about starvation. Gaul could have picked some tasty roots and greens for them to add some variation to their meals, but kept the thought to himself. He must not let on how well he knew this environment.

For the night they put him in the large cage that took up half of one of the long sides of the room, where the birds were kept prior to being marked. It was clean (before leaving, the watchers habitually cleared out the whole boat) and they'd given him a clean blanket and pillow. They locked him in, apparently unaware that the whole outside wall of the cage was a hatch that could be opened to release the birds. Of course, the opening mechanism was situated outside the cage, but he could easily push the hatch open by hand. Yet his professional sense of duty made it impossible for him to leave before his patient was out of danger.

By the third day Brendan was firmly on the road to recovery, having fallen into a deep, healing sleep. Time to go, Gaul decided. He would make his escape an hour before sunrise, when there would be enough light to see his way. These strangers weren't early risers - by the time they got up he would be well out of their reach.

In the afternoon, while they were redressing the wound, Brendan woke. Gaul caught the panic in the brown eyes.

"It's all right. Brendan," Aurora said, arresting his movement to sit up.

Jedina bent over him. "You‘re going to be ﬁne."

"Yeah," Phil added from his seat at the other end of the room. "The Doc has done a good job on you."

For a moment the patient‘s eyes rested on Gaul, then they sought out Alan. "I told you not to take risks on my behalf!" Although barely above a whisper, the voice held great command.

Alan produced a cold smile. "Yes, we should have let you die."

Gaul went on with the rebandaging of the wound. Brendan suffered his ministrations in silence, but said after he'd finished: "Thank you, doctor...?"

"Gaul," he said.

Brendan gave him a rueful smile. "It seems we're repaying your kindness poorly." He nodded at the cage, with its telltale signs of imprisonment. "I take it they took you at gunpoint?"

Gaul shrugged. "I would have come anyway. As a doctor it is my duty to tend to the sick."

"Noble words!" he heard Alan mumble.

"Just because you're a selfish bastard, Alan," Phil began but fell silent when Alan turned his way.

"Shut up, you too!" Jedina said.

"Go and fetch a glass of water for Brendan, Phil," Aurora said.

"And some fruit juice for me," Alan added.

"And some for our guest," Brendan said.

Muttering, Phil went into the kitchen.

"I'm sorry they saw ﬁt to threaten you, Doctor Gaul," Brendan continued. "Please accept my apologies."

"It's all right." He would be gone soon anyway. Better pretend the patient needed him a little longer. "You must rest, you've lost a lot of blood and your wound's far from healed yet."

Brendan shook his head. "There's something you must know..."

Gaul held up his hand. "There's no need to explain." What he didn't know he couldn't tell. Despite himself he was impressed by this man.

"Yes, there is," Brendan said. "I am a wanted man, an enemy of the Federation. But I'm not a criminal. The Federation takes from the poor, depriving them of the little they need to lead a decent life. We take from the Federation, to give back to the poor what was taken from them."  
  
"Brendan, I doubt the doctor is interested in your noble ideals," Alan said, managing to pour loads of scorn on the last two words.

"But it is important that he understands."

"Let Brendan speak, Alan," Jedina said.

At that moment Phil entered, carrying a tray and glasses.

"Doctor." Gaul found Brendan's hand clutching his arm. "You must understand."

"I do," Gaul reassured him. Then curiosity got the better of him. "How did you get into this state?"

"We were emptying the Zephron Federation Bank," Phil said.

"But didn't get out quickly enough," Jedina added.

"A guard decided to play the hero," Alan commented.

"He got a shot in just when we were teleporting out." Aurora accepted a glass from Phil and held it to Brendan's lips.

Gaul frowned in thought. The wound had been festering for days, so there must have been ample time for the raid to reach the news before his abduction. "I didn't hear about any bank raid."

Alan produced another icy smile. "The Federation have decided to keep our exploits secret."

Phil grinned, offering Gaul a glass. "Yeah, they consider us a bad example."

"But the whole police force must be looking for us," Jedina said.

"So we lie low until they deduce we must have left the planet long ago and give up the hunt," Aurora added.

Brendan ﬁnished his drink and lay back. His eyes fell close.

Aurora rose and began to clear away the used bandages. "You rest now, Brendan."

"I'll stay with him," Jedina said. "Phil can start on our meal."

"Now that's not fair!" came the comment. "Why is it me that gets the all the jobs to do?"

"Because we love to hear you complain." Alan drew his gun. "All right, doctor, back to your cage."

Gaul locked gazes with him. "I am no threat to you."

"Oh, I'll make sure of that." Alan pointed his gun at the cage. "In there!"

Gaul obeyed.

*******

The night passed slowly. Gaul slept ﬁtfully, afraid he'd oversleep. At last, barely perceptive, the ﬁrst light came through the boat's high windows. Trying to make as little noise as possible, Gaul sat up and reached for the bottom of the hatch. Yes, there it was - the handle. He pushed, praying the thing was kept well oiled. It moved up almost silently. The opening was less wide than he remembered, and he had to squeeze his portly frame through. Another reason why his captors would never blend into the Zephron population - they were much too thin. The planet's gravity and food bred sturdy people...

Better keep his mind on the job. He lowered himself carefully onto the ridge that ran around the boat. Now it was a matter of minding his steps. In the east the sky began to lighten, bringing some colour into the dark, grey shapes of the vegetation. Colour was essential here, for it were the patches of red grass that were safe. Their roots went all the way down to solid ground and they would hold a Zephron Aurochs, the heaviest animal on the planet. All green grasses had to be avoided, as they were ﬂoating on the surface and would go down into the quicksand with anyone treading on them. He remembered one summer when he'd brought a school friend along. The unfortunate boy had nearly drowned because he was colour-blind and couldn't tell the safe grass from the unsafe. The quicksand itself was treacherous for the unsuspecting traveller since it looked like a solid layer of brownish moss.

Slowly he made his way, testing each step before putting his weight to it. He'd gone about fifty metres, when the lights went on in the boat. They must have noticed his escape!

Gaul made for the nearest row of reeds. He flattened a stack of reeds and lay flat on them. Thus, with his weight spread evenly over the surface, they would hold him. The surrounding reeds, nearly two metres high, would keep him from view.

Sound carries far over the swamps and he could hear the recriminating voices of his abductors. Suddenly a piercing yell: "Help! I'm stuck. l'm sinking!"

It was Phil's voice. Somehow Gaul wasn't surprised it was he who got stuck. He risked a quick look through the reeds, pushing the stems aside. Phil was about twenty metres away. He was already knee-deep and sinking fast. Yelling, he waved his arms about.

Resigned, Gaul selected a thick, long stem and pulled it out. He rose and began to jump from one red grass patch to another until they stopped about two metres away from Phil. The idiot had managed to jump right into the middle of a quicksand pool! Phil was already down to his hips - any deeper and it would be impossible to get him out.

"Keep still!" Gaul held out the reed. It was just long enough. "Hold on."

Phil did. Gaul pulled with all his might. He saw Phil's knuckles turn white from the strain, but he held on. Suddenly the quicksand let go with an audible 'thud'. Phil had fallen forward, with his face in the mud.

"Stay ﬂat," Gaul shouted. "Hold on to the reed and don't move." He began to pull in the reed stem. Phil raised his head, spitting out mud while softly whining, but he still held on.

Gaul manoeuvred him to the patch of solid grass next to his. “There, you can stand now. Keep to the red grass, that will hold you."

But the man didn't move. He must have fainted. With a sigh Gaul stepped onto the patch, lifted Phil and slung him over his shoulder. He'd better take the idiot to safety, it was clear he wouldn't manage it on his own.

He made his way to the boat. There was no sign of the others, maybe they were searching for him in the opposite direction. The vegetation provided more cover there and they might have reasoned he'd go that way.

Phil began to show signs of coming round. Gaul let him slide from his shoulder, depositing him on the boat's ridge. "You're safe now."

"How very touching!" came Alan's sharp verse from above him.

Gaul looked up. Alan sat on the boat‘s roof, hidden in the camouﬂaged ﬂyers shadow, his gun aimed straight at Gaul's chest.

Aurora came in sight from behind the boat. She had a stick in one hand and a gun in the other. Testing each patch of vegetation carefully with her stick before putting her weight on it, she approached them cautiously.

Climbing onto the boat's roof, Phil glared at Alan. "When you told me to go after him you said the place was passable!"

"Ah, yes, I thought he would feel obliged to come to your rescue." Alan produced a superior smile. "A noble but foolish deed, doctor."

Jedina appeared from behind the ﬂyer. 'What are we going to do with him?"

"We can't let him live." Alan's voice was flat.

Gaul stared into the gun barrel and braced himself for the impact. Strange, how calm he felt.

"Alan!" a voice roared. Brendan's head appeared from the hatch. He climbed out and staggered towards them. "Have you gone mad? Put your gun away!"

Brendan stumbled. Alan caught him with his free hand. His gun still trained on Gaul, he locked gazes with Brendan.

Gaul held his breath.

"The doctor saved my life and now Phil's," Brendan said.

"That is immaterial and you know it, Brendan!"

"We are in his debt." Aurora had reached the boat and climbed onto the ridge. "A debt of honour."

"Seems a waste, killing him," Phil remarked. "We may need a doctor again."

"We cannot let him go," Alan said. "He knows too much."

"Put your gun away, Alan!" Brendan repeated.

Alan stared into his face for another few seconds, then obeyed, still supporting the other. "This is stupid."

Gaul found his voice back. "I will not betray you."

"I think the doctor is a man of his word," Jedina observed.

"It doesn't matter if he is or not," Alan said. "Even if he promises to keep his mouth shut, the police have means to get the truth out of him. Considering the way we snatched him from his room, his disappearance must have caused a lot of publicity. The police will not rest until they've got to the bottom of this."

"We can leave him behind when we depart," Aurora suggested. "Once we've gone it doesn't matter what he tells the police."

"If they get wind of the teleport, they'll hunt us to the rims of the galaxy," Alan retorted. "Do you want the Federation to get their hands on my invention, Brendan?"

Calmly, Brendan said: "There is another option." Now Gaul found his gaze on him. “Why not join us, doctor?"

Alan let go of Brendan's arm. "This is utterly stupid! We can't trust him."

"Why not?" Phil asked.

"He is worth our trust," Aurora said.

Jedina nodded. "I think so. After all, he could have let Phil die."

Suddenly Gaul knew that no-one had really wanted to kill him. Not even Alan, whose talk appeared to be tougher than his action.

"I accept your offer," he told Brendan.

"Do you realise what it entails?" Alan asked. "A complete break with your past."

"That is true," Aurora said. "You may not make any contact with loved ones - it is too dangerous."

"That will be no problem. l have no close family left. My parents are dead and l was an only child. My wife..." As always when thinking of her he felt an acute stab of pain. "She died last year of a debilitating illness." The pain was replaced by bitterness: "An illness that could have been cured if the Federation would allow the shipping of the necessary medicines to Zephron. But we're expendable - only worth third level medical care!"

Gaul turned to Brendan. "If your aim is to redress this injustice, I will be happy to assist. But I will not kill. I am a doctor, my aim in life is to cure people, not to kill them."

"I do not allow any killings, Gaul. The security guards we encounter, the banking personnel, even policemen - they merely do their job. We stun our victims, but we do not kill them." Brendan smiled and held out his hand. "Welcome, Gaul."

Suddenly he realised he didn't want to return to his former life anyway. Others could do his work at the hospital equally well. By helping Brendan and his friends ﬁght the Federation and alleviate the plight of the poor, he could give a new meaning to his life.

*******

Three weeks later, when Brendan's wound had completely healed, they left Zephron by boarding the luxury space liner Nova Queen when she made a stop at Zephron for taking in supplies. They always travelled in style, Phil explained, because rich people come under less scrutiny. It worked, for nobody asked for any identity to be shown either at boarding or during the cruise.

Gaul was a bit concerned about the cost - with them splashing out on a luxury cruise, how much of the bank raid‘s proceeds was left to give to the poor? Brendan assured him the trip wouldn't cost them anything because Alan had hacked into the company's computer and booked them in as Federation ofﬁcials. Apparently Alan was something of a genius with computers and had set up all sorts of false identities for them.

Gaul began to enjoy his new life. The tension of their raids was compensated by the satisfaction of donating the loot where it was much needed. Brendan had managed to get a good team together. Phil was a genius safecracker, Jedina an ace pilot and Aurora a clever tactician able to make accurate assessments about the feasibility of proposed raids. Alan's technical expertise came in handy, as did his inventions. Brendan seemed to have no speciality, but excelled at inspiring his team and getting the best out of them. Gaul got to like them all. They did have their peculiarities but that was nothing compared to some of his patients!

He was fascinated by the teleport. it was exciting to be at one place one moment and somewhere else the next. The technology was beyond him but he understood it had something to do with a specific metal alloy. Rings made from this alloy enabled the teleport process. It was worked by a small control set operated by Alan. He carried the set with him continuously and guarded it jealously, refusing to let anyone else handle it. Whenever he was dissatisfied with one of Brendan decisions which happened regularly - Alan would threaten to leave them and sell his invention to the highest bidder. He never did, though, and Brendan appeared not particularly worried by the threat.

The years went by. They only thing Gaul came to regret was that, on his abduction, he had not been able to take his dead wife's portrait with him. As time went by he found it harder and harder to remember her face. if he closed his eyes he could recall her sturdy ﬁgure — dressed in her favourite red suit with a pattern of green apples - and her long, wavy blonde hair. But her face was a blank, and remained so however much he tried to visualise it.

The thought of his wife brought a plan in his head. He chewed it over for a while, then one day decided to put it to Brendan. They were on another luxury cruiser, the Space Orchid, after a successful raid on the Federation Banking Cartel's Overon branch. He went to Brendan‘s cabin and knocked on the door.

Brendan let him in.

"Next month it will be the tenth anniversary of my wife's death," Gaul began as soon as he was seated in one of the two comfortable chairs the cabin was furnished with. "I want to do something special in her memory."

He saw sympathy in Brendan's kind eyes. "You have a target in mind?"

"The date coincides with the Federation Foundation Gala Banquet. I don't know if you've heard of the event?"

Brendan nodded. "A meeting held every ten years to commemorate the founding of the Federation."

"It's a grand occasion attended by the top of the Federation and the Governors of the Allied Planets," Gaul continued. "I know this because during my wife's illness I tended to the Governor of Zephron in the hospital and he fretted about not being able to attend the event. He told me quite a lot about it, how it served to cement the unity of the Federation. If we go and rob the guests, we can publicly humiliate the Federation, maybe even shatter the unity. And we can use the proceeds to buy medicines for Zephron's poor."

"All right," Brendan said. "We'll discuss it with the others."

*******

"It's lunacy," Alan said. They were gathered in Brendan‘s cabin. The women sat in the chairs, Brendan and Phil on the bed while Alan stood leaning against the door. Gaul rested his backside on the low table that was anchored to the ﬂoor.

"The six of us robbing two hundred guests?" Phil exclaimed. "impossible!"

"It can't be done," Jedina said.

Aurora‘s gaze held sympathy. "I'm sorry, Gaul, but it simply isn't feasible."

"Not at the banquet," he said.

Alan raised his eyebrows. "You have a suggestion?"

"Yes," Gaul replied calmly. "We take them out one by one during the security check."

"What security check?" Phil asked, looking uneasy.

"Surely they're not going to ask such important people to submit to a scan?" Aurora asked.

"They do," Gaul said. "All guests are screened, ever since thirty years ago a religious fanatic managed to get in, posing as the deputy governor of Gardinos. He blew himself up along with some twenty dignitaries seated at the president's table. Dozens of others got maimed, it must have been the worst attack on the Federation top ever."

Brendan nodded. "I've heard rumours about it."

"So have I," Alan said. "They kept it from the news on Earth, but couldn't suppress it on some of the planets whose Governors were killed."

"The gala," Gaul went on, "is held at the Banqueting Hall in the Presidential Palace on Earth. The screening is done in a couple of small rooms that lead into the antechamber to the Banqueting Hall. After their scan the guests go into the antechamber where aperitifs are served while they wait for the Hall's door to be opened."

"How do you know all this?" Jedina asked, a look of suspicion on her face.

"From the Governor of Zephron," Gaul explained as he'd done to Brendan. "He fell ill and was admitted to my hospital shortly before the last gala. He was desperate to attend, and kept talking about it."

Alan gave a haughty smile. "At least it would make a nice change from robbing banks. We can teleport in, Brendan, disguised as security personnel, and take the place of the real ones."

"And rob the guests one by one of their valuables when they come to be screened," Phil fell in enthusiastically.

"Their jewellery alone must be worth millions," Jedina observed.

"And the political damage to the Federation would be considerable," Aurora remarked. "All those humiliated, angry Governors - some might even decide to split from the Federation."

"We can use tranquilliser pads to put them to sleep," Gaul suggested, satisfied to see his proposal approved. "That way they'll wake up without feeling any ill after-effects."

Brendan gave a sudden grin. "Except for hurt pride."

"We can put the guests in the antechamber when we've done with them," Alan said. "After stunning the waiters working there."

"Yeah." Phil's face lit up. "Then we can fortify ourselves while on the job. I bet they stock only CHATEAU SUPERIEUR!"

"The door to the Banqueting Hall won't be opened until the dinner commences," Gaul continued.

"By which time WE will have teleported out," Alan said.

"With the loot," Phil added.

"Well, the scheme seems feasible," Brendan said.

Phil grinned. "I'm all for it!"

"So am I," Alan said.

"Jedina?" Brendan asked.

"Count me in."

"Aurora?"

"Yes, Brendan."

"Right." Brendan rose and clapped Gaul heartily on the shoulder. "We'll work out the details later."

Gaul smiled. It would be a ﬁtting tribute to his wife's memory.

*******

The plan went without a hitch. On the day of the gala they teleported into the security room, stunning the surprised guards before they could react. Posing as guards, they then entered the antechamber and quickly sedated the unsuspecting waiters. The security room had two cubicles for the screening, one for the men and the other, operated by female guards, for the ladies. Alan and Phil took up duty at the ﬁrst, Jedina and Aurora at the latter. After entering, each guest was quickly sedated with a tranquilliser pad that guaranteed a minimum of ten hours' sleep. The victims were then stripped of their valuables, after which Gaul and Brendan carried them to the antechamber.

Strip-searching two hundred unconscious bodies is hard work. Gaul began to fear they would not make it in time - they'd agreed to pull out at 19.45, fifteen minutes before the Banqueting Hall doors would be opened.

Shortly after half past seven Jedina and Aurora entered the antechamber. '"That was the last," Jedina announced, crossing off the last name on her copy of the guest list (hacked from the Federation Computer by Alan.) A few moments later, Alan and Phil came in, announcing that  
they had ﬁnished.

Gaul took a last look at the sleeping bodies, neatly laid out in rows on the ﬂoor and ﬁlling nearly all the available space. For a moment he was vividly reminded of the time when the Central Hangar at Bellair City Spaceport had served as a morgue to store the hundreds of bodies recovered from the wreck of a space liner that had crashed on taking off. He shrugged off the feeling. These people would wake up again without any ill after effects. As Brendan had said, the only parts hurting would be their pride - and their pockets.

The one thing he regretted was that the President and his wife weren't among the robbed. At eight o' clock sharp, they would enter the Hall from the outer door and open the door to the antechamber to welcome their guests.

"Stand by," Alan said.

Gaul took a large sack ﬁlled with their spoils in each hand. The others did the same. Grasped ﬁrmly, the sacks would be included in the teleport field.

"Ready?" Brendan asked. "GO, Alan!"

Gaul found himself back in Brendan‘s room in the Dome's most prestigious hotel, right next to the Presidential Palace. They'd chosen to stay at the hotel not only because it was just within the teleport's 600 metres limit, but also because it would be the last place the police would be looking for them. Anticipating the search to be concentrated on people leaving Earth, they'd decided to stay on at the hotel for a while.

"This calls for a celebration," Phil said, producing a bottle. Busy stripping his victims, he'd not had much time to 'fortify' himself during the job. But apparently he'd managed to nick a few bottles.

"To a job well done," Phil proposed.

They all partook in the toast, and the next. Phil was very good at thinking up subjects for toasting. They became very ebullient, even Alan unbending enough to take part in the general mirth. This conﬁrmed Gaul's suspicion that he was less of a grouch than he liked to pretend.

It was very late when they ﬁnally sought out their own rooms and went to bed.

*******

The next morning Gaul woke early as usual. He was always the first to rise. It's difﬁcult to shed the habit of a lifetime and Zephron's population adhered to agrarian hours. He took a quick shower in the ensuite bathroom, wondering whether to go down for breakfast or wait for the others. Leisurely dressing, he decided to give them an hour. If nobody had turned up by then, he would go to the breakfast room on his own.

Idly he switched on the viscast to catch the Early Morning News, curious to know how they would cover the spoiled Foundation Banquet. Not that he expected the robbery to be mentioned - the authorities would keep such a humiliation ﬁrmly from the news. But the Banquet had been too well publicised in advance for the authorities to be able to now ignore it completely.

The screen still blank, the viscast's sound came to life: "...Here at London Dome the hunt is on for the terrorists who killed over two hundred guests attending the Federation Foundation Gala Banquetat the Presidential Palace..."

KILLED? Uncomprehending, Gaul took a step towards the viscast, which was attached to the wall opposite the bed. He must have misheard...

"In a feat of unparalleled atrocity," the newsreader went on, "they mercilessly butchered all those who had come to celebrate the Federation's unity." The screen now lit up, showing the antechamber with the rows of bodies. But where they had been peacefully asleep when Gaul had last set eyes on them, now they were unmistakably dead. Some had their throats cut, others were stabbed in the chest, their clothes saturated with gore. Blood was everywhere in the room. The camera panned in on the bloody footsteps left by a guard distraughtedly walking among the carnage.

Gaul stared at the screen, horriﬁed. Then he went to fetch the others. Barely awake, it took the time to take the news in.

"The President has made a pledge," the newsreader said while the screen showed still more pictures of the slaughter, "to ensure that the terrorists will be caught and brought to justice."

"I don't understand," Phil said. "They were all right when we left."

"It's the PRESIDENT!" Brendan hissed.

"Yes," Alan said, infuriatingly calm.

Aurora shook her head as if unable to believe it. "l know he is an evil man. But this to kill people - his own Governors in their sleep..."

"You mean he is responsible for this?" Jedina asked.

"Who else?" Alan asked.

"He must have reacted instantly," Brendan said, "when he came upon them on opening the Hall door."

"But why?" Phil asked.

"To make political capital out of the alleged atrocity," Alan said. "Robbed but alive, the Governors would have caused a diplomatic row, possibly even breaking away from the Federation, as Aurora said. But now the outrage about their deaths by the hands of terrorists will serve to close the ranks."

"And even gain the president sympathy," Brendan added bitterly.

Gaul felt sick. How could this have happened?

Jedina switched off the viscast. "Now the hunt for us will be on in earnest!"

"Yeah." Phil had paled. "We won't be safe anywhere!"

"Sitting tight is still our best strategy," Aurora said.

Alan nodded. "For the moment. But it's time to retire."

"Yeah," Phil agreed. "With this loot we can live out the rest of our lives in luxury on a neutral planet."

"As far away from the Federation as possible," Alan said.

"NO!" Brendan roared. "I will not have this stain on my reputation!"

"I agree," Aurora said. "This deed must not go unpunished."

"What can we do?" Jedina asked.

"Expose the president," Aurora said.

"And destroy his ofﬁce, the seat of Federation power," Brendan added.

"I say we should run," Phil said.

"We will teleport into the office," Brendan went on. "We place and prime a bomb, then teleport out with the President before it goes off."  
  
Aurora nodded grimly. "Then we'll make him confess."

"How?" Alan asked.

"We'll ﬁnd a way." Brendan met Alan's challenging stare. "Do you have a better idea?"

"Yes, we should start running," Phil repeated. "This is crazy!"

A very bleak smile spread over Alan's face. "Indeed. The plan might be just crazy enough to work."

"Please." Again Gaul saw his wife's featureless face before him. "The robbery was my idea, so I am responsible for the outcome. Let me be the one to place the bomb that will destroy the heart of the Federation."

*******

Gaul stood ready with the others to teleport into the President's ofﬁce. In his pocket he carried the bomb hastily put together by Alan. It was a crude affair, but it would work, Alan had assured them. The only thing needed to prime it was pulling the piece of string attached to it. Then they had thirty seconds to teleport out before the bomb went off.

They put on their teleport rings. Phil eyed his warily, as if he'd rather remove it and not take part in the mission. Alan put his hand in his pocket where Gaul knew he kept his teleport control. Jedina and Aurora drew their guns.

"Ready, GO, Alan!" Brendan said.

Gaul's surroundings blurred and the next moment he was in a large room. A man, seated behind a large desk, stared at them in surprise. Gaul recognised the president, looking less regal with his mouth open and his eyes nearly popping out than on the official portraits. He seemed to be alone. Good--

"Drop your guns!" A voice behind Gaul ordered. "Put your hands up!"

Armed troopers filed into the room. Turning his head, Gaul saw a row of guns pointing his way. No escape! The others must have come to the same conclusion. They‘d dropped their guns and raised their hands.

"A trap!" Alan hissed.

"Of course." The president had regained his composure. "Why else would I allow the news of the raid to get out? I knew you would want to set the record straight." He leaned back in his chair, smiling smugly. "We have worked out that the only way you could have entered was by some kind of teleport device. A device which will help me expand the Federation."

Gaul felt sick. With the teleport, the Federation would be unstoppable in its conquest of the galaxy!

No, that must not happen! He must get them out!

"Please, PLEASE!" He took a step forward, wringing his hands. "Don't hurt me! I'll give you the secret."

"Gaul, NO!" he heard Aurora shout.

"Traitor!" Phil hissed.

Brendan took a step towards him, but was arrested by a blow to his head from a trooper.

Gaul took the ring from his ﬁnger. "This is it! With this we can GET OUT IMMEDIATELY!"

From the corner of his eye he saw Alan's hand drop into his pocket. So he got the message- and made use of the distraction! Gaul tossed the ring at Jedina. He saw her catch it while they dematerialised. A cry of protest from Brendan was cut off when he disappeared.

No time to get the bomb out. Gaul shoved his hand into his pocket, got hold of the string and jerked. In the confusion his move went unnoticed. The president began to curse his troopers, reverting to particularly coarse language that would have made Gaul blush in normal circumstances.

Then it dawned on the troopers that they still had one prisoner and they jumped on Gaul, forcing him to the floor.

Gaul was beyond caring, barely registering the pain in his shoulder and knees. Calmly he counted off the seconds to the explosion...

Suddenly he saw his wife. She smiled at him, her face clearly before him. Yes, he remembered it now, could see her sweet smile, beckoning him. Happiness filled him.

Smiling, he counted the last seconds. A blinding ﬂash, then peace.

*******   
*********


	4. The Auron Initiation Enigma (Cally)

Cally opened her mouth but closed it again - the flash of unease went so quickly she wasn't sure it had been real. Probably it was just the spooky atmosphere of the place. She became aware that Blake had been speaking. "Sorry?"

"I said: This is yours. Are you all right, Cally?"

She could just make out the sudden concern on his face.

"Yes, Blake, I'm fine." She looked at the sign above the door: CAVE OF THE RITUALS. "I thought they were doing them in reversed chronological order." In which case her mystery would have been last.

"Demonstrably not,“ Avon observed.

Vila sighed. "I bet mine's the last."

"You'd better go in, Cally," Blake said.

"Yes. See you." Determined she pushed open the door and went through. Another dark corridor. From the slightly opened door at the end came a ﬂickering light, as if from a campfire. It was just enough for her not to trip over the items on the floor. She picked them up. A flint knife in a leather sheath. A small axe in another sheath. A purse - she knew what she would find inside even before opening the strings: pieces of flintstone; dried moss to use as kindle; a flint knife; dried medicinal herbs. She tied the purse and sheaths to her belt and picked up the last item, a folded blanket. Draping it round her shoulders, she stepped through the door at the end of the corridor.

She felt slightly awed by the large cave. The light of the fire in the centre reflected on the smooth grey stones of the walls, as if they were alight. A small stream emerged from the rocks at the back of the cave, running through a gully before disappearing between two boulders further on. Its pleasant bubbling was audible even above the sound of the ﬁre. At the side of the fire stood baskets with food: ﬂat breadcakes, baked on hot stones; dried meat; smoked ﬁsh; nuts; roots. All durable stuff, and enough to see them through the initiation period. Six bowls were placed in a neat row next to the baskets.

The shaman was standing at the other side of the ﬁre, a frown of impatience on his lean, stern face. He unfolded one arm and gestured at her to join the girl and three boys who stood silently waiting in line. When she went past him, the shaman lightly touched her forehead, mumbling: "Be blessed, Double Rainbow, daughter of the Tribe of Auron."

Yes, that was her name. She had seen ﬁfteen autumns and was about to undergo the Initiation Rite, which would mark the end of her childhood. Seven days from now, when she left this cave, having passed the test of Silence and Prayer, she would be regarded a woman.

Flake-of-Snow smiled at her when she passed him to take her place in the line. The light of the ﬁre made the auronoa in his red tunic shine up. His unruly dark curls were wet, as if someone had attempted to smooth them down. He looked calm and determined, his mind set.

Return-of-the-Silver-Moon, his blue tunic laden with auronoa, gave her a curt nod. Dark of hair and eyes, he was the eldest of them, having already seen seventeen summers. He was a late developer, the beard growth that indicated a boy's readiness for the Initiation Ritual having only recently manifested itself. His face was set in its usual arrogance; Moon had made it a habit of looking at the world down his large nose.

Next to him was the youngest boy, fourteen winters old Sunset-on-the-Winter-Solstice. His yellow tunic held but a few threads of auronoa. A non-descript, shy boy with brown eyes and thin brown hair, he was from the lowest of the seven Auron grades.

The girl, Second-Blossom-of-the-Sacred-Fruit, was dressed in a purple dress with many auronoa threads, which enhanced her long golden hair that hung in waves over her shoulders. She was a year younger than Rainbow, yet Rainbow had the impression that somehow Blossom was the most mature of them.

Smiling at Blossom, Rainbow went to stand next to her. Only the shaman was allowed to speak in the Cave of the Rituals. That was the great test they were about to undergo: spend seven days in silence. Continually one of the elders would be at the entrance of the cave, to catch even the smallest of whispers. If a candidate failed the test, all his companions would be disqualiﬁed as well, and the Ritual would have to be repeated at the Winter Solstice. This was a great incentive for keeping the silence - nobody wanted to endure the shame of a failure.

At last Took-His-Time entered. He was a large, easy-going lad with a reputation of dimness. His birth had taken three days (and nearly cost his mother her life), hence his name. it was well chosen since he'd remained slow ever since. His family belonged to the next but lowest grade, which was reflected in the few rows of auronoa in his orange tunic.

The shaman blessed Time, then raised his hands and began to chant the sacred words of the initiation ceremony. He was an impressive ﬁgure in his long white robe. (Only the shaman was allowed to wear white, the colour of purity.) He spoke another blessing and left.

The uneven triangle of daylight at the entrance of the cave was shut out with the positioning of the reed mat over the opening. Now they were shut in. The Rite had begun.

Holding a ﬁnger to his lips, Flake began to move to the rear of the cave, beckoning them with his other hand. Blossom followed him light-footedly, Time with more heavy steps. Looking worried, Sunset opened his mouth but Moon quickly put his hand over it, then hauled him along to the others. For a moment Rainbow felt doubt. Was Flake's plan to ﬁnd the Land Where the Sun Sets - the entrance to the Place of Eternal Bliss really worth forsaking her kin and tribe? Never to see her parents and sister again?

She caught Flake's steady gaze and her doubts dissolved. Quickly she joined the group.

Flake pointed at the spot where the stream entered from a hole in the rocks. This was their way out, he'd assured them there was enough room for them to slip through. When discussing his plan he'd explained how he found this passage by chance on one of his secret forays into the Cave. With a triumphant smile he removed a lose rock from a ledge above the stream, revealing a small hole just large enough for them to pass their food, kits, clothes and blankets through so they wouldn't get wet.

Flake gestured at Time. Rainbow nodded to herself - this was sensible. If Time could pass through the stream, so could the rest of them.

Unhurriedly Time undressed himself. Calmly he stepped into the stream, sat down, then lay on his back. He took a deep breath, pushed his head under water and wriggled under the rock. Rainbow found herself holding her breath while she saw his head, shoulders, torso and legs disappear from sight. It seemed to take ages, but couldn't have been more than a few heartbeats, before Time's wet hand appeared in the small hole above the stream. Flake handed him his gear, then began to pass down the food.

Now the others began to undress, Sunset with open reluctance. Rainbow followed their example, then gave her things to Flake who passed them on to Time. They all tried to make as little noise as possible. Sunset went into the water next, pushed on by Moon, who quickly followed him. Meanwhile Flake carefully replaced the removed piece of rock.

Now it was Rainbow‘s turn. The water was unexpectedly cold, but clear and fresh. She inhaled a deep breath of air, then determinedly pushed her head under the water. Releasing her breath slowly, she moved herself along with her hands and feet. There was very little room and the wet rocks above her were slippery to the touch. Just when she was desperate for air, she found she could raise her head. Gratefully she gulped in fresh air while Time helped her up from the stream.

Rubbing herself dry on her blanket, she took in her surroundings. They were on the flank of a mountain, on a small plateau amidst soaring cliffs. A steady stream of water was flowing down from a cleft, disappearing into the hole through which they‘d come. The red glow in the evening sky told her they were facing West, towards the sunset. Not surprising since the Cave's entrance was facing east, the origin of the sun and the place where the gods lived.

Blossom's head appeared from the stream, then her body. LIKE A NEW BIRTH, Rainbow thought, remembering the birth of her little sister. Then, ﬁnally, Flake rose from the stream, shaking the water from his body.

"This is stupid," Sunset commented while wrestling himself into his tunic. "We should go back, it's not too late."

"It is," Blossom said. "You know the law: those who leave the Valley of Abundance can never return."

"But nobody knows we've gone," Sunset pointed out.

"The Gods know," Time said.

Sunset began to look even more wary. "Yeah, and we shouldn't upset them. Better wait for another occasion."

"We won't GET another occasion," Moon said.

"You know this is our only chance, Sunset," Flake cut in. "We won't be missed for seven days. By that time we'll be out of reach from any retrieval party."

"You agreed," Rainbow reminded Sunset, fed up with his objections.

He scowled at her. "I didn't have any choice, did I?"

That was true. The one staying behind would have been punished for his fellows' deed. Rainbow remembered the tale of how, during one ritual, a youngster had fallen ill and died. The shaman ruled that under the Law of Collectivity, the others had to die too. They were driven back into the Cave of Rituals and locked up there until they had starved to death. Two of the mothers, who tried to smuggle in food, were caught by the Elders and ceremoniously beaten to death.

"We need you, Sunset." Flake placed an arm round the boy‘s thin shoulders. "Our quest will lead us to the Land Where the Sun Sets. Your name is an omen."

That seemed to encourage Sunset. Well, at least it shut him up, Rainbow reflected ungraciously.

They dressed, collected their gear and the food, and set out. Flake lead the way, heading for a narrow passage through the ridge that blocked their view to the West.

Casting a last look at the stream disappearing into the cave, Rainbow felt a surge of elation. She had always felt the urge to rebel against the constrictions of the tribe's harsh laws. Now she was eager to share Flake‘s vision and accompany him on his quest.

*******

They travelled all through the night, their path lit by Big Sister, the largest of Auron's three moons. Later in the night Little Sister rose to follow in her elder sibling's path, as toddlers are wont to do. Middle Sister was more erratic, choosing her own path along the sky, again as children do when their minder is busy elsewhere. 

The Silver Moon that Moon was named after appeared only once every generation, and then was so bright she could be seen even by day. She had returned shortly before Moon's birth, hence his name. They were all named after a special event, as was the tribe's custom. Sometimes the choosing of a name could be difficult, when no special event occurred. But none of their parents had faced that problem. The second blossoming of the Sacred Tree was a rare event, occurring late in the year after a very mild autumn, and was regarded as a sign of prosperity. A child born during the occasion, like Blossom, was indeed blessed by the gods. Snow was rare in the Valley of Abundance, although the winters could be cold, but it had snowed at Flake's birth. Clouds often prevented the witnessing of the sunset on the Winter Solstice, but the sky had been clear on the occasion of Sunset's birth. And the double rainbow that had appeared on the eve of her own birth had been exceptionally bright, lasting longer than anyone could remember ever having witnessed. A clear sign from the gods that she was destined for great things.

Musing over this, Rainbow followed the others. After a strenuous climb they crossed the ridge, only to ﬁnd another plateau leading to another ridge. Finding a pass, they emerged at the other side of that just before sunrise. Rainbow tried to stiﬂe the stab of disappointment at ﬁnding yet more mountains ahead.

After a short rest they set out again, to Sunset's protest. Flake urged them on, asking if they weren't eager to see their destination. But at sunset, when they settled down for the night in a small cave they'd found, the landscape hadn't changed.

"Tomorrow we'll see the Land," Flake promised. But the following days brought more mountains and disappointment. On the seventh day their food ran out but still they found nothing but bare rocks.

"What now?" Blossom asked, when they'd ﬁnished their last nuts.

"We'll go on," Flake said. "We must be near our goal now."

"I doubt it." Moon cast a critical eye at the last remnants of red in the sky where the sun had sunk behind the mountains. "The sun seems as far away as before."

"That must be a deception of the eye," Time said. "It's always difﬁcult to judge distances."

"We're doomed," Sunset whined. "We'll die here of hunger and the birds will be picking my poor bones bare."

"Shut up!" Rainbow told him, more upset by the image than she would admit.

They plodded on. Water was no problem. Sometimes they came upon a small stream, sprouting from one rockface and disappearing lower down in another. At other places pools of water from the spring downpours had gathered in hollow rocks. Although less fresh than the water from the streams, it was drinkable. But they went hungry now.

They managed to catch some birds - the only wildlife and food source around. But the birds held very little flesh and, as Sunset put it: "These little titbits just serve to remind me of how hungry I am!"

Sunset was now moaning incessantly. Moon began to reproach Flake, accusing him of misleading them about their chance of success. Blossom jumped to Flake's defense, saying it wasn't Flake's fault the mountains stretched this far. Flake acidly reminded Moon he'd agreed to the venture, in fact he'd been all eager to go and satisfy his curiosity about the world outside the valley. That was, Moon retorted, because Flake had led him to believe there would be something more interesting to find than bare rocks. As usual, Time managed to appease the ﬂared tempers and they marched on, stomachs rumbling. Against her will, Rainbow felt doubt seep into her. Could Flake's vision be wrong? She didn't want to believe it, but as each hungry day followed the next, she found her conﬁdence in him waning.

Their empty stomachs made it difﬁcult to keep up the pace. They had to sit down to rest for increasingly longer periods. Exhausted, Rainbow couldn't think where Flake found the energy to make them continue, but he did. Every time he managed to pick up not only himself but his companions as well, cajoling them into another march.

Late on the afternoon of the eleventh day, Sunset declared: "I can't go on!"

"Yes, you can," Flake said, negotiating a difficult climb.

Blossom eyed the gorge he was heading for. "Maybe we should rest for a while."

Rainbow found herself agreeing. "We need to have our wits about when negotiating that pass."

"Better keep going," Time said.

"I wasn't aware we WERE," Moon spat. "Going anywhere, that is."

"Just along this pass," Flake shouted, a bit out of breath. "I want to know what's on the other side."

"Another bloody mountain!" Sunset mumbled. But he kept going, prodded on by Moon. Blossom was in front of them, always keeping close to Flake. Rainbow and Time made up the rear. At times she felt so dizzy, she had to hold on to Time. He seemed less affected by their conditions than the others. Maybe his large body had more energy to spare.

Suddenly the pass made a sharp bend. Flake disappeared from sight, then Blossom, Moon and Sunset. Almost too tired for thinking, Rainbow trod on, step after weary step. Suddenly she collided into Sunset, who had stopped.

Rainbow stared at the vista, unable for a moment to take it in. In front of her the mountain sloped gradually down, vegetation covering the lower regions. Further on, green land stretched as far as the eye reached. Here and there the gently undulating mass of green was sliced by meandering rivers. This land wasn't hemmed in by mountains like the Valley of Abundance - never had Rainbow been able to see so far. It gave her a sense of unlimited freedom.

"Look," Flake said. Eyes shining, he pointed at the sun, red and low in the sky. "That's where we'll find the Land Where the Sun Sets."

*******

They followed a large river that ﬂowed to the west. The grass and woodland provided plenty of food, from roots and fruit to meat from the small rodents that hadn't yet learned to be wary of people and so were easy to catch. The river was full of ﬁsh, equally easy to catch with the spears they'd made from saplings. On the mountains it had been cool, but here the summer's heat was oppressive.

On the move, they adapted themselves to the environment, learning new skills. Rainbow lost count of the days they travelled. The days shortened and the weather became cooler, a sign that winter was approaching. Some trees lost their foliage, but others continued to bloom and bear fruit. Rain began to fall, storms lashed the trees, and they began to feel wet and miserable. It didn't get really cold - like it did in the valley - but the incessant rain meant that their clothes stayed wet continually, which felt very unpleasant. Then Rainbow found she could weave waterproof capes from the reed stems that grew on the river's edge, to keep them dry and warm.

Despite their long marches they didn't appear to get any nearer to their destination; the place where the sun set seemed as far away as when they had set out. Then the landscape changed again, the woodland making way for meadows, and these for stretches of yellow sand between layers of rocks. Still following the river, they began to notice changes in the water. Sometimes the level seemed to rise, and the taste turned salty. Moon remarked that the rise and fall appeared to show a pattern, but Sunset said it must be his imagination.

They continued to follow the river, which now wound through sand hills thrice Time's height or more. They began to wade through the shallow water along the river's bank, which was easier then climbing over the loose sand. The river was huge here, and deep in the centre. Sometimes a smaller branch forked off, but these were easy to cross.

Then came the day they turned another bend in the river and found themselves staring at an enormous body of water. It stretched to the rim of the world, lit by a watery sun that had come out from the clouds.

"So here ends our journey," Moon said.

Flake shook his head. "No, we have not yet reached our destination."

"We've reached the edge of the land," Moon retorted. "We can't go any further. Unless you ﬁnd a way of turning yourself into a ﬁsh and swim the rest of the way."

Flake pointed at the South. "Look, the land curves to the West there."

Shading her eyes, Rainbow could just make out a faint white line.

"We'll only have to follow the coast," Flake continued.

"We'll have to cross the river ﬁrst," Blossom said.

"Oh no!" Sunset looked at the slow ﬂowing mass of water. "It's too dangerous."

"We can make ropes," Time said, indicating the multifunctional reed growing at the banks. "And tie ourselves to each other."

Flake nodded. "Look at all those stones. We can step over them, and bring others to bridge the gaps. That way we won't even need to get our feet wet."

"Stones are heavy," Sunset objected. "Why go to all the trouble? l mean, do we really NEED to find the Land Where the Sun Sets? I'm happy to stay here - well, back at the other side of the sand hills, with the food and fresh water."

"We've come this far," Time said, "it should be a waste to stop now."

Rainbow ignored the sudden pang of unease. "I agree."

"Yes," Moon said. "There's something strange about the spot where the sun sets. l want to find out what it is."

"I'm going to follow Flake," Blossom said. "You can stay here if you like, Sunset."

"On my own?" The boy's face paled. "I don't like to be on my own!"

"That's settled then," Flake said. "Let's start on the bridge."

*******

It took them weeks to pile enough stones into the river for them to traverse it. Flake had chosen a spot more upriver, where many stones were already in the water. Others lay scattered on the banks, as if brought along by the river and shed just before its final flow into the sea.

At last the task was done. After the heavy work it was a relief to be able to sit down and start on the fabrication of the ropes. When that was done, Flake made them tie themselves two by two: he and Blossom, Moon and Sunset, Time and Rainbow. They waited until the river was at its lowest point - they'd long ago come to the conclusion that Moon was right and the water rose and fell to a distinct pattern.

Flake and Blossom went ﬁrst. The rocks were slippery from the moss, especially those just beneath the surface. Once Blossom threatened to slip but Flake steadied her before she could fall. Next went Moon and Sunset. The latter moaned all the way, predicting that he would fall and drown, but reached the other end without harm. Rainbow was aware of Moon's fear but nothing showed on his haughty face. Now it was her and Time's turn.

"You go ﬁrst," Time said. "Then I can catch you if you slip."

But Rainbow quickly became sure of her footing - it was simply a matter of balance. Steadily but with care she stepped from stone to stone. She had just reached the place - about two thirds through - where a large bed of rocks had formed that were only visible at low tide, when she heard Time cry out. Turning, she saw him lying on his back, wedged between two big boulders.

One look at his pale face told her things were very wrong. He must have taken a heavy fall. The rope between them was still connected, it was due to its length that it hadn't jerked her along.

She hurried to him, still mindful where to put her feet; falling wouldn't help him. His face was contracted in pain. She touched his cheek.

His eyes opened. "Rainbow..."

"l'm here, Time."

"Rainbow, I... I can't feel my legs!"

Her heart turned to ice. She remembered Herald of the Spring, lamed after falling from a tree. He'd never regained the use of his legs, wasting away for seven seasons until at last the gods took mercy on him and called him to them.

She saw the same thought in Time's eyes.

"So stupid," he mumbled.

"Rainbow! TIME!" The shout made her turn. She saw Flake hurry towards them. The others stood at the bank, following his progress. Blossom looked worried, Sunset near to panic and Moon's face was unreadable as usual.

"How is he?" Flake asked, panting while he negotiated the last few rocks and stood beside her.

She lowered her voice to a whisper: "I think he‘s broken his back."

A shadow of defeat slid over his face, as soon gone as it came. Flake squared his shoulders. "Right, we'll have to get him out. You stay with him, Rainbow. I'll go and get some sticks together to make a litter." Addressing Time, he raised his voice: "Don't worry, we'll get you out. I'll be back as soon as I can."

"No, Flake!" Time's eyes begged as hard as his voice. "i don't want to be a burden. Kill me!"

"NO! We'll get you out. You'll be fine." Flake turned and hurried back to the others, jumping from stone to stone with such speed it was a miracle he made it without slipping.

"Rainbow."

She turned back to Time, kneeling at his side. "l'm here." It sounded just as inadequate as she felt.

"The tide."

With a shock she realised the water was rising. When he fell his body had been half above the water, now it was nearly submerged. His head, leaning against a rock, was still free, but that wouldn't be for long.

"I don't want to drown, Rainbow. Spare me that!" Fear shone from Time's eyes. "I can't reach my knife. Help me."

In horror she realised what he was asking. NO! But she didn't utter the word. If the situation was reversed, she'd ask the same from him.

It was her duty. Forcing her thoughts away, she took her knife from its sheath. Time stretched his neck, presenting his throat to her. She raised her knife, then found herself unable to bring it down.

"Rainbow, PLEASE!"

It was her duty. Clenching her teeth, she brought down the knife, slicing his throat from one end to the next. Blood gushed out, mingling with the water. The light left his eyes. His body went limp. A quick, clean death - his soul was now free to travel to the Place of Eternal Bliss.

She held the knife in the water until it was clean of blood, then put it back in its sheath. Slowly she rose, feeling drained. With heavy steps she made her way to the bank.

*******

Flake took Time's death badly. "It should not have gone like this!"

"It was his choice," Rainbow said, stung by his reaction.

"Rainbow's right, Flake," Blossom said. "It was the only option."

Sunset nodded. "He would not have wanted to be a burden to us."

"The tide was coming in," Moon observed. "He would have drowned before we got the litter ready."

Flake hung his head. "All right. We'll go and retrieve his body."

"What, NOW?" Sunset stared at him, appalled.

"Flake, we'll have to wait for the next low tide," Rainbow said.

"Unless,“ Moon added, "you want MORE bodies to retrieve."

Blossom took Flake's arm. "We can't get to him now. You'll have to accept that."

With apparent reluctance Flake succumbed to common sense; Rainbow could sense every ﬁbre in his body protesting. They built a ﬁre and held a wake while the sun sank towards the elusive Place of Eternal Bliss. In the east Big Sister rose and the river swelled and receded again.

When at last their bridge became passable once more, they found Time's body gone. In the light of the three moons - almost as bright as daylight although devoid of colours - they stared at the bare rocks.

"He must have been swept out to sea," Moon observed.

"Then we'll never find him again," Sunset said.

Flake gritted his teeth. "We should have got him out immediately."

"You know that wasn't possible, Flake!" Tired deep into her bones, Rainbow began to lose her patience with him.

"We can sing the Farewell Rites to him anyway," Blossom suggested. "His soul will hear them, wherever it may roam."

Sunset nodded. "His soul will ﬁnd its way to the Place of Eternal Bliss. Time always was slow but sure."

They returned to the fire and began to chant the ancient songs. When they'd ﬁnished, they unfolded their blankets and lay down. Exhausted mentally and physically, Rainbow sank into a dreamless sleep.

*******

"Rainbow. Rainbow, wake up!"

Slowly she became aware of Blossom's voice. For a moment she tried to shut it out, then she reluctantly opened her eyes. It was still dark, their shapes colourless in the moonlight. Rainbow counted three shapes: Blossom, Sunset and Moon. Yes, she remembered with a shock - Time was no longer among them. But where was Flake?

"Flake's disappeared," Sunset said as if in answer to her silent question.

"Did he say anything to you?" Blossom asked.

"No." Rainbow threw off her blanket and got up. "I fell asleep as soon as we'd finished the chant."

"Me too," Sunset volunteered.

"He must have gone off to grieve on his own," Moon said.

"Yes." Rainbow suddenly felt a surge of unease. "He's in danger. We must find him!"

"But how?“ Blossom gestured at the dunes around them. "He can be anywhere."

"The sea," Moon said. "He'd go to the sea, to stare at the Place of Eternal Bliss."

That made sense. Rainbow picked up her blanket. "We must ﬁnd him! Quickly." Moon gave her a sharp look, then quickly doused the ﬁre with sand. "Let's go."

They hurried along the riverbank, their path lit by the three moons. Turning the bend around the last dune, Rainbow felt a pang of worry on seeing the empty beach stretched before them.

"He's not here," Sunset remarked.

"There!" Blossom pointed at a rock sticking out above the water. Now Rainbow could make out Flake's unmistakable shape on its top. Rainbow remembered having seen a row of rocks forming a spearhead into the sea. Now the others must be submerged.

"The IDIOT!" Moon hissed.

"What's he doing there?“ Sunset asked.

"Being suicidal," Moon replied.

"He must have gone there to be on his own," Blossom said.

Rainbow agreed. "And became aware too late of the rising water blocking his retreat."

"So," Sunset said, "he'll have to stick it out until low tide."

"The water's still rising," Moon observed. "Haven't you noticed that the tides are extra high when our moons come together? They will submerge the rock totally."

"And Flake!" Rainbow exclaimed.

Sunset stared from Moon to her and back. "But then he's lost!"

"Not yet!" Moon said. "Sunset, Blossom, get all the rope together you can find. Hurry!" While they ran back to the camp site, he added: "Rainbow, you are our best hurler. Find something to serve as weight."

Seeing his plan, she nodded and began to search the waterline. She picked up some clutches of seaweed, then saw a piece of wood. She weighed it in her hand. "This will do."

"Good." Moon turned his gaze away from the lonely figure on the rock.. "You'll only have one chance."

Rainbow could see the rock was now almost submerged. While she watched Flake rose, as if only now aware of the peril. He was no more than a dark shadow on the dark rock, but his stance of deﬁance was clearly recognisable.

Blossom and Sunset returned, panting, laden with ropes. Quickly they bound them all together. It was a good thing Flake had insisted they made ropes for the crossing, Rainbow reﬂected. She tied the wood to one end, making sure it would not slip from the knots.

"Hurry," Sunset urged.

"Flake," Moon shouted.

The others took up the call. They had to shout against the wind, but at last they saw the ﬁgure on the rock raise his hands. Rainbow carefully coiled the rope, making sure it would not get entangled. Then she concentrated and hurled the rope. Keeping her breath, she saw the wood fly towards the rock. Flake's hand shot out, catching the wood. Rainbow let out her breath. She handed the end of the rope to Moon. He and Sunset could haul it in.

She saw Flake raise his hands, then he jumped into the water.

"Haul," Blossom said.

In her thoughts Rainbow was with Flake. She shared his fight to keep his head above the waves. Jumping into the water was an act of outstanding bravery.

Suddenly he was there, wading through the water towards them. He was coughing and spluttering, but seemed all right. Removing the rope he'd bound around his chest, Flake said: "Thank you."

"Next time you want to waste time on pointless reﬂections," Moon told him, "keep to the high ground."

*******

In the morning they continued their journey, following the coastline. After many days they came to the point where it began to bend to the west again. The landscape had turned dryer.

"We must be nearing our goal," Flake said. He had recovered from his bout of guilt about Time's death. It struck Rainbow how they now hardly ever mentioned him. The new challenges their journey brought made the memory of his death fade.

Water became scarce. It looked as if they would have to abandon their quest, but then Rainbow found that the branches of the only species of tree growing in the sand were hollow and filled with a milk-like ﬂuid that tasted good, quenched the thirst and seemed very nutritious. Thanks to these 'milk trees‘ as they named them, they were able to continue their journey.

Then the coast bent to the south again, and once more they found their way west blocked by the sea. They climbed to a dune top to get a picture of the environment. To her dismay Rainbow saw the coast bend sharply away to the east - they were standing at the tip of a spearhead of land. Sunset sat down in the sand. "That's it, then."

"Yes." Moon folded his arms. "This is the end of our journey."

"We've come as far as we can go," Rainbow said.

Blossom placed a hand on Flake's arm. "We can return to the wood and find a place to settle."  
  
"NO!" Shrugging off her hand, Flake pointed to the West. "Look! There, where the water meets the sky."

Now Rainbow could see a shimmer of green. Land - fertile land, it had to have plenty of water to be so green.

"That," Flake said, "must be the Land Where the Sun Sets."

"The Place of Eternal Bliss," Blossom added.

"Yes." Flake bounced on his feet in his enthusiasm. "The place where the dead reside. We'll meet Time again."

Sunset eyed the body of water. "We can't go there."

"We MUST," Flake said.

"It's impossible," Moon stated. "We can't cross the water."

"But we can." Eyes shining, Flake began to run down the dune's slope. "Come on!"

Back on the beach, Flake picked up a discarded branch from which they'd drunk the sap. He tossed it into the water. "Look, it floats."

"Yeah, but WE don't," Sunset pointed out.

Flake dismissed his remark with an impatient gesture. "If we bind enough branches together, we can build a raft to cross the water."

Moon stared at him as if he had turned into a dragon before his eyes. "This is pure suicide!"

"No, Moon." Blossom took Flake's arm. "It can be done."

"Not by me," Sunset said. "I'm with Moon -this is stupid!"

"Rainbow?" Flake asked.

Who to follow, the idealistic Flake or rational Moon? Never had she had such a difﬁcult decision to make. Suddenly she found it impossible to choose.

"Right," Flake said impatiently. "I and Blossom will go ﬁrst. This is what we'll do. We'll tie a rope to the raft. A very long rope. The other end we'll tie to a rock on the shore here. When we have reached the other side, we'll fasten our end there and paddle the raft back along the rope. Then you can join us if you want."

Moon dealt him a look of scorn. "Look at the distance! Our ropes don't stretch even a fraction."

"We'll make more." Flake picked up a bunch of the long, sticky seaweed that lay all over the shore. "These strands are strong enough."

"Even more so when we braid them," Blossom said, clearly in favour of the proposal.

For a moment Rainbow was tempted to say she'd join them on the first voyage, but she thought better of it. Let Blossom accompany him, it was clear she'd been wishing for a long time for an opportunity to be alone with Flake.

"I agree," she said instead.

Flake looked at the others. "Moon?"

"Why ask me? It's clear no argument will make you refrain from this lunacy."

Flake's eyes ﬂared. "You're damn right!" He turned away and began to gather the seaweed. "And I'm not going to waste any more time."

"Don't I get asked?" Sunset protested.

"No," Rainbow said, simultaneously with Blossom and Moon. Starting to collect the seaweed, she felt a vague guilt about her attitude towards Sunset. He couldn't help his character any more than any of them, yet his whining always managed to bring out the worst in her.

*******

For a long time they worked on the ropes, accompanied by increasing moaning from Sunset. The braiding made his ﬁngers hurt, the sitting with crossed legs for hours caused pins and needles, the stench of the drying seaweed churned his stomach...

It WAS a foul smell, Rainbow had to concede. But the strands could be braided into a thin but very strong rope. They made lengths and lengths - every time Sunset suggested they must have enough of it now, Moon said they weren't even halfway. Rainbow noticed that in this Flake seemed prepared to go by Moon's estimate.

While Rainbow worked on the rope with Blossom and Sunset, Flake and Moon set to building the raft. They used the thickest branches they could ﬁnd, needing even more rope to tie them together. Flake selected some special branches to cut into paddles. so they could manoeuvre the raft along.

At last they were ready. On a warm and sunny morning, when the tide was beginning to go out, they loaded the raft with a small 'milk tree' and the paddles. Flake tied one end of the rope to the raft and Moon the other to a suitable piece of rock. Then Blossom and Flake pushed the raft into the water and climbed aboard. Immediately the raft was seized by the current and began to drift away from the shore. Blossom waved, Flake took a paddle, and they were on their way.

The mass of rope, carefully folded by Blossom, began to uncoil as more and more was pulled away by the raft.

With pain in her heart Rainbow waved the seafarers goodbye. From the corner of her eye she saw Sunset wipe his eyes. Moon's face was as inscrutable as ever. The raft was rapidly becoming smaller as the distance increased. Soon it was no more than a small dot in the vastness of the sea, then it disappeared out of sight. Moon and Sunset went to catch shellﬁsh that had been left by the tide in a small pool further on. Rainbow remained at the rock to see to it that the rope wouldn't get tangled. its steady uncoiling should be comforting, but It was also a reminder that her companions were getting further and further away. Would she ever see them again?

Better keep up her spirits. The water was extraordinarily calm, the sky cloudless and there wasn't a breath of wind. This must be a good omen. Rainbow wondered if Blossom would get Flake to pairbond. Clearly Blossom had been ready to take a mate for some time. Rainbow wasn't sure about Flake. His obsession with his quest seemed to override any other feelings in him. Maybe now, alone with Blossom and with nothing else on his hands, he would be receptive to her advances.

And she? Rainbow had always known Flake was meant for Blossom. Time's death had left her with just two possible mates to choose from. No choice really - she'd never allow the irritating, whining Sunset to touch her! But Moon? There were times when she felt attracted to him. Now and then she'd thought to catch a sign that her feelings were answered, but with someone as unreadable as Moon one could never be sure.

The future would tell. There was no hurry.

Rainbow relaxed. The ﬂow of the rope was mesmerising, almost sending her to sleep. Suddenly she became aware of gusts of wind. Where did they come from? She looked up. The sun had reached its highest point in the sky, ready to begin its descent. Strange, the tide should have turned by now, but still the water was out, the beach stretching further than she'd ever seen before. Further on, the row of rocks that they'd named the Nine Brothers, of which normally only the heads came up from the water, now lay fully exposed. Still further away in the water she saw other rocks pop up from the waves. Rainbow looked to the West, out over the sea, and her heart turned cold. Clouds were gathering - ugly black clouds, hanging low over the water. Never had she seen such a mass. And they were heading towards her!

She could never say what made her abandon her task. Following her instinct, she started to run, survival her only thought. Inland she ran, up the ﬁrst dune she met. At the top she halted to look back. A wall of water, higher than the Nine Brothers standing on each other's shoulders, was surging towards the land. Rainbow climbed into the sturdiest tree around and held on for her life.

Suddenly the water washed over her, uprooting the tree and sweeping away the sand. Rainbow felt herself being carried along at incredible speed. With all her might she held on to the floating tree, which was swept along in the surging waters. She knew if she let go she would drown. Twice her branch went under, twice it came up again, then the tree settled in the water, drifting along more steadily until - she couldn't say how much later - it hit solid ground. Slowly the water flowed away, leaving the tree and Rainbow stranded.

Then came the rain, pouring down in enormous drops that landed painfully on her body. The tree was lying on its side, its mass of roots exposed. Rainbow huddled under them until the worst of the rain had passed. From the west, the sky began to clear. Rainbow was surprised to see the sun only halfway in its descent. It felt as if much more time had gone by. She looked around her. There was no way of telling how far inland she'd been swept - none of the land's features were familiar. But the enormous wave could have altered the landscape, ﬂattening the dunes and baring the rocks.

The others - what had become of them? Only now did she remember Flake and Blossom on the raft. Had they reached their destination before the storm hit?

Nothing stirred in the muddy landscape, even the wind had died down. Rainbow could see no sign of life. Moon and Sunset must have seen the danger and taken refuge. For all his whining Sunset had a keen sense for survival and Moon's cool competence would have made him assess the danger and go for the best shelter. They HAD to have survived - she couldn't face being alone!

STAY CALM! she chided herself, determinedly suppressing her bout of panic. Finding her knife still in its sheath on her belt, she took it out and cut off a sprig of the tree. Gratefully she drank from the sap. The milky ﬂuid revived her somewhat. With renewed hope she began to scout the landscape. What was that - there, in the North? Something unnatural. There it was again - ﬂickering sunlight. It must be reﬂecting on something. On and off, on and off - this was too regular for a natural phenomenon. Someone was signalling her.

Cutting off a few milk-tree branches to carry with her, Rainbow set out in the direction of the lights. Despite her tiredness she tried to keep up a brisk pace. It wouldn't be long before the sun went down, and the signaller would have to stop.

She began to shout: "Is anybody there?"

"Rainbow. Here!"

"Sunset?" Even if she had not recognised his voice, the sheer dread in it would have told her his identity.

She found him entangled in the branches of another uprooted tree, this one much larger than hers. He'd used his amulet, a mirror stone, to signal his survival. A clever idea.

"Oh, Rainbow, am I glad to see you!" Sunset exclaimed.

"And I." A load had fallen from her shoulders - she was no longer alone. She embraced him.

"Ohhh," he moaned. "Careful! I've broken my arm."

It wasn't broken, Rainbow found to her relief. Just bruised, but that didn't prevent Sunset from groaning incessantly. Rainbow helped him to untangle himself from the tree, cutting away branches to free him. With the stock of tree-milk, they would not have to worry about food for the time being. But they needed shelter, and warmth. Both were soaked through - and had lost their blankets.

"We must build a ﬁre," she said, scouting around her for suitable things to burn. The wave had left an abundance of seaweed behind, but that needed time to dry. The whole landscape was wet through and through. In the end she cut off some of the tree's roots and built a ﬁre from that. By a miracle her leather pouch had left the tinder, packed in another piece of leather, dry and she managed to set it alight with her ﬂintstones. The resulting ﬁre gave off more smoke than warmth.

"At least it will be seen from afar," she observed. "We must keep it going, so Moon will be able to ﬁnd us."

Huddled together, they shivered through the night. The following day the sun brought some warmth and they managed to dry their clothes. With some of the dried seaweed, Rainbow now got the ﬁre going in earnest. With satisfaction she watched the smoke rising to the sky. They were on a small hillock, the ﬁre must be visible from the whole area. Moon couldn't miss it.

The whole day they waited, and another. Rainbow began to lose hope - Moon must have perished. They should go, ﬁnd a more habitable place, but she hesitated. If they left now, Moon would never be able to ﬁnd them.

Sunset was no help. He just sat moaning, telling her they should leave and declaring himself unﬁt to move a single step in the same breath.

For the third night they went to sleep under the canopy of roots from the tree. Rainbow dreamt that a voice was calling her name. A familiar voice. No, it wasn't a dream. She opened her eyes and sat up. "Moon?"

"Rainbow.“ It was him, in the moonlight she could just make out his ﬁgure.

She jumped up, bumping against Sunset who sleepily protested. "I thought I'd never see you again!"

"What? Moon?" Sunset worked himself into a sitting position. "I told Rainbow you'd turn up."

He had done nothing of the sort, on the contrary he'd given up hope from the beginning. But, embracing Moon, Rainbow was not in the mood to contradict him. "I'm glad you've made it, Moon."

Fora moment she felt him respond, then he let go of her. "Yes."

"What kept you?" Sunset asked. "Didn't you see the ﬁre?"

"Yes, but I had to be certain it was you."

What a strange thing to say. "What happened to you?" she asked.

Moon cut a branch from the tree and sat down. After taking a large swig of the milk, he said: "I managed to climb into a tree just before the wave hit. The tree held, and I managed to hold on. it took a day before the water withdrew and I could climb down."

"So you were at the coast." Rainbow felt a surge of hope. "Flake and Blossom?" They might have returned.

Moon shook his head. "The rope's gone. Even if they made it to the other land, there's no way for them to return. We'll never know their fate."

Unless they build another raft. But no - the journey would be too perilous.

Moon let some more tree-milk drip into his mouth, then he continued: "I've seen dead bodies that were washed ashore."

"What?" Sunset exclaimed.

Rainbow's heart turned to ice. "Flake? Blossom?"

Moon shook his head. "These were strangers. Men, women and children. Their skin is darker than ours, their hair thicker, like fur. I've never seen such creatures before."

"Animals," Sunset said, looking frightened.

"They were unmistakably people, Auronar like us."

Rainbow tried to think over the consequences. "You said they were washed ashore? Can this mean they came from the other land?"

Moon nodded. "That seems the only explanation. We've been here long enough to establish that this peninsula is uninhabited."

Rainbow smiled, a load lifting from her heart. "That means that Flake and Blossom are not alone there."

"IF they made it," Moon said.

"Or they were killed on arrival," Sunset observed. "We don't know how friendly those hairy strangers are!"

"They may hold Flake and Blossom responsible for the wave," Moon said. "In which case I don't give much for their chance of survival."

Sunset shrugged. "Anyway, it's out of our hands. With the rope gone there's no way for us to go in search of them." He sounded relieved.

Moon put down his empty branch. "Exactly."

Rainbow knew they were right; she had to accept the reality, however hard It was. "What should we do?"

"Find a more habitable place," Sunset suggested before Moon could answer. "Preferably on high ground."

"When I made my way here," Moon said, "I saw what looks a mountain range, in that direction." He pointed at the east. "The green of the lower slopes suggests a rich plant life, so there must be plenty of water."

"And fruits, nuts and vegetables," Moon remarked, smacking his lips. l m getting fed up with milk and ﬁsh."

"Then we will set out in the morning," Rainbow decided. There was no point in staying here, or returning to the shore. They would never see Flake and Blossom again.

*******

The journey brought them to a wondrous land, with tall trees and full of strange plants and animals. By trial and error they had to ﬁnd out which fruits and plants were edible. They had to watch the animals, some of which proved hostile. But they coped, learning new skills along the way. Their ﬁght for survival served to take Rainbow's thoughts away from the loss of their companions. Yet there were times when she acutely longed for Flake's infectious optimism. And although she'd never been close to Blossom, Rainbow now missed the companionship of another woman. Sunset's ceaseless moaning didn't help either, and Moon seemed solely occupied with leading them safely through the dangers of their path.

They'd met countless streams, most of them easy to traverse, but now they came upon an enormous river. This one was even larger than the one that had cost Time his life, and there was no way of crossing it.

"We'll follow it upstream," Moon said.

"Why not downstream?" Sunset asked.

"Because then we'll probably end up at another sea," Moon replied. "Haven't you noticed how water always flows downwards? i thought you wanted to settle on high ground."

Of course. She'd never thought about it, but Moon was right about the water. It was these kinds of observations that made Moon so useful to have around.

After a while, they noticed the landscape changing again. It became more familiar, beginning to resemble the Valley of Abundance. At last they reached the foot of the mountains. Rainbow looked up at the ﬂank, green and fertile here, more bare and rocky higher up. She couldn't see the tops, which were lost in the clouds.

"Now this is a place I could get used to calling home," Sunset declared, stepping forward. Suddenly he jumped, then began to hop on one foot. "That pool is HOT!"

"Indeed?" Moon squatted down and cautiously lowered his little finger into the water of a small pool that was partly hidden under the vegetation. "He's right, this is pleasantly warm."

"WARM, he says!" Sunset scoffed. "I burned my foot."

Rainbow inspected the foot Sunset held out to her while he precariously balanced on his other leg.

"The skin is a bit red, but I can see no sign of blisters," she told him. "You'll be all right, Sunset."

"But it HURTS!" Offended, he sat down on the grass.

Moon, who had wandered off, now called her. When Rainbow had joined him, he pointed at whiffs of steam that rose from gaps in the rock. "Maybe this has something to do with the warm water."

"But how--" Suddenly her world seemed to move.

She felt Moon's hand catching her by the arm. "What is it?"

"I felt a - a tremor, as if the ground moved." Now she spoke about it, it sounded sully.

Moon shook his head. "It must have been your imagination."

"Yes." She tried to concentrate. "The sun is getting low. We'd better prepare for the night."

Apparently forgetting his hurt foot, Sunset jumped up, painting up the slope. "Look. That must be a cave. We could sleep with a solid roof above our heads tonight."

The idea was enticing. They climbed up to the dark hole above the ridge.

"It IS a cave," Moon said, as if surprised that Sunset could get even such a simple observation right.

Sunset was too excited to notice the slight. He ambled about the ridge, squeaking with delight at each asset he found. "Look, a stream." He took a handful of foliage growing at the stream's side into his hand and pulled, bringing up a thick root. "Red roots. Fat snails. And dew nuts." The small brown nuts were shaped like dewdrops, hence their name; this place indeed resembled the Valley of Abundance very much.

Sunset pointed at another shrub, carrying pinkish fruit. "Summer berries."

SUMMER berries - with a shock Rainbow realised it must have been a full year since they left the Valley.

"You gather the food, Sunset," Moon said. "Rainbow and l will take a look at this cave of yours."

Muttering he always got the tiring jobs - it wasn't fair! Sunset set to his task. Moon gathered some of the wood that was lying in abundance on the grass. Rainbow took out her flintstones and got the fire going. Moon picked up a suitable stick and lit the end on the ﬁre. With this torch he entered the cave. Rainbow followed him, glad about the torchlight. The cave was large and the entrance hole small, letting in little light. Besides, the light would keep at bay any animals that might have strolled in.

The cave was empty, the layer of dirt and dust on the uneven floor undisturbed. They ventured further in, past a curve. Here the light of the entrance did not reach. Rainbow took another step, and felt a searing pain in her ankle.

"Ouch." She fell, sending up waves of dust.

"Rainbow." Moon was bending over her, keeping his torch out of harm's way. "What's the matter?"

"I fell - I think I've hurt my ankle." She fought against the tears in her eyes brought on by the pain.

He knelt down. "Let me see. Take the torch."

She obeyed. His touch was light, almost gentle. "Nothing seems broken," he said. "I'll get some wound salve, I saw a patch of it a little while back."

She knew the small herb with its yellowish leaves - another familiar plant. "I think I saw bruise balm too, lower on."

Moon rose. "I'll get them. You stay here."

She held out the torch to him. "You'd better take this." Seeing him hesitate to leave her in the dark, she smiled at him. "You can't risk taking a false step. l'll be ﬁne."

"All right." He took the torch. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

He disappeared, and with him the light. In the dark, Rainbow tried to relax. This cave seemed the ideal refuge. Here they could settle, start a family--

Suddenly the ground began to tremble, tremor after tremor in increasing force. Dull thuds sounded around her as stones started falling from the cave's roof. Dust entered her nostrils.

THE CAVE - IT'S COLLAPSING! Fear gripped her. She would die here, alone! She felt a gust of wind as a rock landed right beside her. Terriﬁed, Rainbow raised her arms to protect her head. A loud rumbling started - the whole roof was coming down. In the dark, Rainbow‘s life passed before her eyes. Faces of loved ones appeared and went: her parents, sister, Time, Blossom, Sunset, Moon... One face remained, of the person she had chosen to follow. With her last breath Rainbow cried out his name: "Flake!"

*******   
*********


	5. The Dependable Heist (Vila)

Vila trod morosely along behind the others, warily trying to gauge his surroundings in the near darkness. He was beginning to regret this idea - his mystery WOULD be the last and, once Avon and Blake had found their doors, he'd have to pass along this dark spooky corridor on his own! Why couldn't he have chosen the lakeside of Gardinos? Or a nice sunny sea resort with long sandy beaches and palm trees waving in the gentle breeze...?

"Hey?" Becoming aware that Blake was talking to him, he stopped just in time to avoid bumping into him.

Before Blake could reply Avon said, pointing at the next illuminated sign: "That seems to be yours, Vila."

"Galaxbank Security Shuttle DEPENDABLE," he read aloud, surprised.

"So you can read?" Avon commented. He sounded a bit strained.

"Don't like the darkness either, hey?" Vila challenged, cheering up on seeing his barb hit home.

"Just get on with it, Vila," Blake said, clearly eager to be off to his location.

"Yes, yes, all right." He opened the door and stepped through. Another corridor, equally dark. He'd complain to the manager- considering the price they charged, you'd expect them to include decent lighting!

At the far end a faint glow was beckoning, a single light shining on the outside of what looked like an airlock door. Vila shuffled along. Suddenly he trod on something soft, nearly making him stumble. His heartbeat drumming in his ears, he bent down and risked a cautious touch. Cloth - soft, dark material. He picked it up. A black cape with a large hood. Almost without thinking he donned it, covering his bright yellow suit.

A faint sound behind him made him turn. He saw a dark ﬁgure approach. His contact, he knew suddenly while his fear abated. The man was likewise cloaked and hooded.

"Did you bring the money?" the man whispered.

"Did you bring the goods?" He now remembered that this man, a reputed hacker and forger, had agreed to sell him a false identity disc.

The man held out a pale hand, on its palm a silvery disc which he quickly covered with his fingers. "The money!"

He reached in his left pocket and brought out the wad of banknotes. Despite the efforts of governments and banks, electronic payment had never managed to completely replace the cash ﬂow. "What about the computer ﬁles?" Without the necessary input his disk wouldn't be worth a credit.

"l entered the relevant data in the Galaxbank computer. You are now listed as a long standing, fully vetted employee."

He felt a tinge of doubt. How far could he trust this man? The forger had been recommended to him by a usually reliable contact, but still.... "How can I be sure of that?"

He caught a gleam of teeth as the other smiled. "You can't. You'll have to rely on my word." Still clutching the disc, the man held out his other hand for the money. "Make up your mind! I don't have all day."

And he was already late for boarding. He handed over the money. "All right."

The man quickly counted the notes, then tossed the disc at him.

He caught it. The name on the disc said: FELIX. Yes, that was the name he'd chosen. An apt name for a man of his profession. He was the Ace, the best burglar and safecracker in the galaxy. And he was about to perform his greatest masterpiece.

He looked up to say good-bye but the man had gone. Shrugging, Felix took off the cape and dropped it on the floor. Suddenly catching sight of his Galaxbank bag, the yellow fabric faintly luminous in the dark, he picked it up and hurried to the airlock. He entered his disc in the slot and the door slid open. "Anybody there?" he called, stepping in and moving straight to the inner door which gave onto the flight deck.

Two men and two women, all dressed in the company's yellow uniforms, stood in front of the ship's main screen which showed a large star chart. Their heads turned his way. One of the men, tall and curly with a rugged smile and an air of authority, stepped forward. "Ah, our substitute! Welcome aboard the DEPENDABLE. I'm Lionel Rex, the Commander." He gestured at the blonde woman, then at the brunette: "This is Jade, our Pilot, and Amber, the Communications Ofﬁcer."

"And I'm Senior Guardian Bruno," the other man, large and friendly looking, added.

The Commander held out his hand. "Glad to have you with us, Corvus."

Felix suppressed a curse; he'd known something would go wrong! The idiot forger must have got the names muddled...

"I am Corvus," a sharp voice behind him said.

Felix turned. A man was standing behind him, also in the obligatory yellow uniform. He was about Felix's height, which meant smaller than the other men, with a large nose and very dark eyes. His dark hair was falling over his forehead in a fringe. Felix had never seen the man's face before, but he recognised his voice: the forger.

Rex smiled. "Our Navigator. Welcome aboard."

"And THAT is Felix," Corvus said with a disdainful gesture, "your replacement Junior Guardian."

Felix scowled at him. This wasn't the place to confront him, but he'd do so at the first opportunity!

Rex nodded, extending his arms to include them both in a hearty embrace. "We were unfortunate in losing two of our crew unexpectedly. It's a relief the Company could provide replacements at such short notice."

The former Junior Guardian was suffering from the severe ill effects caused by the imbibing of a large quantity of Head-Basher. Felix knew this because he was responsible for the man's over-indulgence. Glancing at Corvus's uncompromising features, he wondered what had happened to the ship's Navigator. Shivering slightly, he decided he'd rather not know.

*******

It took three days before Felix could ﬁnd the chance for a private conversation with Corvus. The DEPENDABLE was a small craft and comfortable crew quarters had not been on the designer's list of essentials. The three cabins were very small and equipped with only the bare necessities. Predictably, the women shared a cabin. The Commander shared with the Navigator, leaving the third cabin for the two Guardians. Felix didn't mind; Bruno was a nice bloke albeit a bit slow. He'd prefer him above snooty Corvus any time!

The other facilities were equally basic. The pantry held a device to boil water, a dishwasher and washing machine, but no cooking facilities. The food was condensed and came in small packets. All you had to do was choose a ﬂavour, empty the packet in a bowl and add boiling water. The ﬂavours weren't bad and the choice was adequate, but after three days Felix was already yearning for something solid to put his teeth into.

Up to now all the space travel the Ace had done had been on luxury liners and he'd never realised conditions on freighters could be this primitive. The only place with any room to spare, the flight deck, served also as recreation area. This made it difﬁcult to engage in a private conversation.

Felix settled down to the ship's routine as best as he could, waiting for an opportunity to accost Corvus. He would never warm to that bastard but he'd grown to like the others. Rex had a natural authority, making you automatically obey his commands. The women's names suited their bearers: Jade was hard and opaque like the precious stone she was named after, while Amber was more transparent with a soft inner radiance. In other circumstances he'd liked to try a bit of ﬂirtation but he'd learned not to combine work with pleasure. So he kept his distance from them both, ﬁrmly reminding himself he was on a job.

The cargo of gold ingots was locked in the large safe at the centre of the ﬂight deck. it was the Guardians' task to keep an eye on the safe at all times, in alternating shifts. Felix suspected that this routine stemmed from a less automated period when the guards literally carried the keys to the safe. Nowadays the only persons holding the key, and knowing the code to unlock the safe, were the Managers of the Bank's branches the gold was destined for. But the office of Guardian had remained. It was no coincidence the Ace had chosen to replace the Junior Guardian; he'd expected the night watches to fall on him. This had turned out not to be the case, Bruno and he did eight-hour shifts followed by an equally long rest period. It meant he alternated between morning, night and afternoon shifts.

Having ﬁnished his second night shift, Felix went to the Commander's cabin. Rex, an early riser, was already on the ﬂight deck, checking for messages and possible hazards in the flight path. Felix pushed open the door without knocking and quickly entered.

Lying on his functional bunk, Corvus opened his eyes, then rose, shoving aside the company's yellow blanket. "Ah, Felix, I've been waiting for you."

"I bet you were!" he said, riled by the other‘s lack of repentance. "What do you think you're planning?"

"YOU are planning to steal the DEPENDABLE's gold," Corvus stated, ignoring the question. "And for that you need my help."

"I bloody well don't!" Trying to hide his dismay made him raise his voice.

The other produced a cold smile. "You are the Ace, the master of safecrackers."

Felix didn't know whether to be alarmed or ﬂattered. He sank down on the opposite bunk, still unmade as Rex must have left it. "How do you know?"

Corvus smoothed a lapel of his black silk pajama. "Only the Ace would contemplate such an audacious enterprise. When you came to me for a pass for the DEPENDABLE, I knew I had struck gold." He smiled brieﬂy at his pun.

"Forget it!" Felix growled.

Corvus folded his arms. "You need my help."

"I don't. There isn't a lock invented I can't open!"

"Just cracking the lock isn't enough," Corvus said. "The safe's lock is linked to the Galaxbank main computer, in a way that is impossible to deactivate via the lock itself. Any attempt to open the safe without clearance from the computer will result in alerting the Bank's headquarters to the deed."

"Eh?" Felix tried to absorb this bit of information. "I didn't know that."

"You're not supposed to. It is kept secret, to safeguard against talented thieves." Corvus slung his legs over the bunk's side and slid his feet into a pair of yellow slippers bearing the Galaxbank logo. "It will need a genius hacker to bypass the system without setting off the alarm."

Felix cast him a resigned glance. "And you are said genius?"

"Yes." It was said matter-of-factly. "l was part of the team developing the system. They had the sense to segment the job, so none of us would get enough knowledge to try a scam. Of course I kept my true talents hidden."

"Seems I do need you then," Felix had to concede. He was confident he could open every lock ever devised, but knew his limitations in the field of computer hacking.

"There will still be the lock to crack, the most advanced of its kind," Corvus said.

Felix began to feel a bit better about the enterprise: "So you need me as much as I need you."

Corvus gave a slightly mocking bow. "The perfect partnership. We'll share the proceeds - equally."

"Now that's not fair! It was my idea, I did most of the work." But he knew it was useless even before the other repeated:

"Equally!"

"All right." Felix still felt reluctant but decided to bow to the inevitable. "But you'd better deliver!"

"I will." Corvus stood and began to make his bunk, smoothing out the sheets, then the blanket. "How do you plan to get the gold off the ship?"

That was the ultimate challenge, the most difficult part of the operation. But the Ace had worked it out: "You know the trip will take about four months. For the most part we'll be following fairly busy space lanes but after Juliandra we'll come across a relatively quiet stretch. At Juliandra, Rex will take the opportunity to empty the waste chutes."

All waste had to be packed in special bags and be disposed of at designated spots. Dumping waste in space was strictly forbidden and carried crippling ﬁnes.

"When we're past Juliandra," Felix continued, "we'll crack the safe during my night watch. We'll take out the gold in small portions. I've brought specially prepared bags, one for each of the four waste chutes. You know the waste chutes are at regular intervals around the ship's hull. if we distribute the ingots a few at a time equally over the chutes, the ship's trim won't be affected."

That had been the crux - removing the gold without alerting anyone to the shift in trim. Gold is heavy, and the Galaxbank spacecraft were notorious for their gravity generators' sensitivity to a shift in balance. That had been the reason for putting the safe in the ship's centre, so a full load could be carried without needing counterbalance.

"You seem to have it all worked out," Corvus remarked, and Felix was gratiﬁed to detect a grudging admiration.

"Wait until you hear the rest. Lily, my partner, will be waiting in our ship, the LOTUS. It's a small, unobtrusive craft, undetectable by anything but close range detectors. At the right moment she'll send out a distress call. The DEPENDABLE being the only ship within range, Rex will have to react. I will volunteer to go aboard and ﬁnd out what's wrong. There'll be something genuinely wrong - Lily is a smart engineer."

Lily was the exception to his rule to keep work and pleasure apart. Blonde, pretty and long legged, she also possessed a sharp brain, a sense for adventure and a talent for acting the helpless maiden in distress. in other words: she was a partner worthy of the Ace.

"I'll volunteer to stay and repair the LOTUS. Rex will want to hurry on to keep to the schedule. As Junior Guardian l'm the most expendable - watching the safe is a sinecure anyway. As soon as the DEPENDABLE resumes its course, I'll open its chute hatches by remote control, causing the bags to drift out. They'll be too small to be picked up by the DEPENDABLE's sensors. Besides, they're coated with a deﬂecting agent. But they've got a special homing beacon, so that the LOTUS will pick them up."

"Impressive," Corvus said. "I can see only one change in the plan to be made. I will be the one to volunteer for the repairs, to make sure that you and the smart Lily don't decide to abscond with my share."

"But you can't," Felix protested. "I can't stay behind. What do you think will happen when the theft is discovered? They'll dig into our backgrounds - my identity won't stand up to that kind of scrutiny!"

For a moment he thought Corvus would take exception at this lack of trust in his forgery abilities, but his frown turned out to be one of thought:

"True." Corvus nodded slowly. "All right, we'll both stay behind on the LOTUS. I'll tell Rex I need your help with the repairs. Don't worry, I'll make it convincing." He squared his shoulders and seemed to grow a bit while adding: "I am an accomplished technician."

"I bet!" Felix mumbled, irritated by the man's self-esteem. A thought struck him: “Aren't GALAXBANK going to miss you, if you work for the company?"

Corvus shook his head. "I took extended leave to visit my sick mother on Gardinos. l'm not due back at work until the end of the year. Actually, my mother died years ago, a fact they'll ﬁnd out when they start a thorough investigation after the discovery of the theft. But by then I'll have acquired a new identity."

"And enough credits to spend the rest of our life in luxury." Felix held out his hand to clinch the deal. Corvus shook it, solemnly.

*******

The weeks passed slowly. The Ace - or Felix, as he now thought of himself- curbed his impatience as best as he could. There was no point in opening the safe before they could shift the gold; he didn't want to risk the chance of someone noticing the lock being tampered with. This was always the most difﬁcult time: the waiting before the start of the action. Once the operation was under way he'd be deadly calm, performing the cracking of the lock with surgical precision. But now he had difﬁculty keeping his nerves at bay.

Fortunately none of the others seemed to notice. Or maybe they attributed his restlessness to 'space syndrome'. They didn't seem to take much notice of him anyway, or of each other. For a crew who had to spend months on end together in close conﬁnement, they seemed curiously detached. But maybe that was their way of coping with the cramped conditions: keeping a mental distance when a physical one wasn't possible.

Felix noticed that Corvus made no effort to ingratiate himself with the others. He had an acid tongue and most of the time a short temper. Not that the others seemed to care. Jade gave him back in kind, Amber merely shook her head indulgently, Bruno grinned openly at his jibes and Rex ignored them. The Commander seemed to have taken to him, often engaging Corvus in conversation about technical matters. Felix wondered how much of that was tactics - Corvus was proud of his technical prowess and clearly human enough to appreciate recognition of it.

At last Juliandra came in sight, a large reddish brown planet that had only been colonised because of its convenient situation at an important cross-roads of space lanes. The atmosphere being unsuited for humans, life was restricted to large domes that held stocks and provided cheap accommodation for transit passengers. The DEPENDABLE didn't stop. Her foodstock was sufﬁcient to last the whole journey and Company policy allowed no stops en route unless in an emergency. Contemplating the planet slowly revolving on the main screen while the DEPENDABLE passed her by, Felix smiled to himself; although he didn't know it yet, Rex was about to encounter an emergency.

As expected, the Commander took the opportunity to empty the DEPENDABLE's waste chutes over the rubbish dump established outside Juliandra's atmosphere. With satisfaction Felix read the indicators denoting the chutes to be empty. It would take time for the bags situated at various points on the ship to get ﬁlled again to the point they had to be emptied in one of the chutes, which was the Junior Guardian's task. For now, the chutes were empty and ready to receive the special consignment.

He waited another week until they were well away from Juliandra, then one morning during his watch he leaned over Corvus, ostentatiously to look at the bit of electronics the Navigator was working on, and whispered in his ear: "Tonight."

The other nodded almost imperceptibly. Felix knew that Corvus had established a reputation of suffering from insomnia, often staying on the flight deck for half the night, so Rex wouldn't be suspicious if his bunk stayed empty.

That night, during Felix's watch when the others had retired to their cabins, they set to work. While Felix took his tools from his pocket, Corvus sat down in front of the DEPENDABLE's board computer to tackle the entry codes.

"Clear," he said after half an hour.

Felix, who'd been impatiently ﬁddling with his ultra probe - a tool he'd specially designed to deal with complicated locks cast the computer screen a doubtful look. "You're sure?"

"Yes."

"All right." Now it was Felix's turn to prove himself. He did so with confidence and ﬂair. After a tense twenty minutes he announced: "Right, here goes." Holding his breath despite himself, Felix pulled the safe's handle.

The door came open smoothly, turning soundlessly on its hinges. Letting out his breath in a sigh of relief, Felix stared at the tightly stacked ingots. Their golden colour shone merrily. It reminded him of the company's uniforms, and he suddenly wondered if the yellow had been chosen deliberately to resemble the colour of gold. Checking his watch, he put the irrelevant thought aside. 01.22. Good, that gave them plenty of time to distribute the ingots. Their weight made it impossible to move more than a few at a time, making it a lengthy task. Felix picked up the special bags he'd taken with him.

"You go and place these in the chutes, Corvus. Then we'll ﬁll them, one load each turn. We'll go clockwise, beginning with the red chute, then the yellow, the green and the blue. Remember that the weight has to be equally distributed."

"Yes, I AM capable of grasping the principle of balance." Corvus took the bags and began to rub the end of the ﬁrst one to get it open, apparently without much success.

Felix left him to it. Stealthily he took his felt-tip pen from his pocket and quickly drew a square with a diamond in it on the inside of the safe's door. This was his trademark, which he always left behind to taunt the authorities. Applying it brought on a wonderful feeling of achievement - a sign of his place in history. He thought it better not to let Corvus catch him at it, though; Felix doubted he'd approve. He pocketed his pen and, with a feeling close to reverence, lifted the ﬁrst ingot. This was always a solemn moment. He held the bar to the light, savouring its gleam. Suddenly he stiffened, his back feeling as if someone had emptied a bucket of icy water over it. "This doesn't feel right!"

Corvus looked up from his struggle with the bag, which still withstood his attempts to open it. "What do you mean?"

"What l say. These bars have the size of gold, the weight, the colour - but they don't FEEL as they should." He took his probe and ran the sharp end along the bar's surface. A large reddish-purple weal appeared.

"COARSAL," Corvus hissed. Felix nodded; he'd recognised the telltale colour. Coarsal was a metal mined on the Outer Planets. Having the same weight as gold but no great value, it was mainly used for ballast. "The DEPENDABLE must be a dummy, a facade for would-be thieves while the real gold is carried by another ship."

Corvus shook his head. "No, I know the minds of the GALAXBANK directors. They'd never transport the gold unguarded. It MUST be aboard!"

"Then where?" Felix let his eyes rove over the flight deck. "You can't hide six hundred bars of gold that easily - not in a tub like this!"

"It must be somewhere," Corvus repeated.

Felix forced his mind to the problem. "The gold must be hidden in a fake console or something."

"Yes." Corvus dropped the bags and began to move from one instrument bank to the next, removing panels and peering into interiors.

Felix joined in, checking the inside of the couches in the recreation area. "Nothing."

"Here neither." Corvus banged his ﬁst on the navigation console. "What is surplus on this ship?"  
  
Felix felt something stir in his memory. He brought his mind back to the time shortly after their arrival, when Rex had given them a tour of the ship. "There are seven escape capsules."

"So there are!" Corvus strode to the ﬂight deck's back wall where the emergency capsules were stored. "Seven escape capsules for a crew of six - one too many. THAT's where the gold must be hidden!"

Felix followed on his heels. Embedded in the curved wall, the capsules stood upright on their launch pads, each in its own sluice that was covered by a transparent door. Small plaques above them read from left to right: COMMANDER, COMS OFFICER, SENIOR GUARDIAN, SPARE, JUNIOR GUARDIAN, NAVIGATOR, PILOT.

Felix studied the opening mechanism on the door of the spare capsule. "Must be in here."

"Wait," Corvus said. Turning, Felix saw him run to the computer. Corvus began to tap the keys in a steady staccato. After two minutes he said. "I've disengaged the alarm. We can now open the sluice door."

Opening the capsule itself proved more difﬁcult. Built into the lock were several security systems. "This lock is even more complicated than the one on the safe," Felix observed, disabling yet another trip wire. "Anyone needing this capsule in a hurry would be dead before getting it open."

"Then this is definitely what we're looking for," Corvus said. "I wonder how they've dealt with the counterbalance. Ah, yes, the large console over there." He walked over to the opposite side, knelt down, opened a panel low at the console's front and peered inside. "As I thought, this contains some very heavy weights."

At last certain he had dealt with all traps, Felix pulled open the capsule‘s hatch. The gold was there, tightly stacked. He took out a bar. It felt right but he checked it with his probe anyway. The weal was pure gold in colour.

"Right, Corvus," he said, eager to get the job done. "Get the bags in place." When Corvus didn't move he added: "Hurry! We've lost a lot of time."

Corvus shook his head. "We can't remove the gold from here! To avoid disturbing the trim of the ship we'd have to remove those weights too, but they're too heavy."

The Ace's mind was always sharp in a crisis. "We can replace the gold with the coarsal from the safe."

"No, it's too complicated," Corvus said. "I've never been happy about using the chutes."

Stung about this rejection of his carefully laid plan, Felix asked: "Then what do you suggest?"

"We wait until we're in the Cathay system. The DEPENDABLE's route will bring us close to Cathay Minor, a colonised earth-like type planet. When we're in range, I'll sabotage the ship, necessitating an evacuation. Let's see..." Corvus took a small scanner from his pocket and ran it over the capsule. "There, as I thought — a homing beacon. This will enable the company to keep track of the capsule once it's launched." He switched off the scanner and put it back in his pocket. "I can move the beacon to another capsule. There are safeguards to its removal but I'll be able to overcome them. We'll make sure to evacuate last, waiting until we're above an inhabited part of the planet in order to land well away from the others. Then we'll launch our capsules along with the one carrying the gold. While the rescue team concentrates on the capsule with the homing beacon, the LOTUS can come to pick us up — AND the gold. I take it the LOTUS is able to land on a planet's surface, and that you have a means of contacting the smart Lily?"

"Of course I have. She'll be there," Felix replied automatically, ignoring the other‘s sarcastic use of the word 'smart'. His thoughts were elsewhere - he felt there was a flaw in the plan, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

"Good," Corvus went on. "By the time Galaxbank realise they've been duped and start a search for the missing capsules, we will have left the planet."

"With the loot." Felix's doubt evaporated. lt WAS a good plan. Launching the escape capsule was easier than running around the ship ﬁlling the waste chutes with gold bars. He wasn't averse to a bit of work in the good cause, but in principle he tried to keep all exertion to a minimum. "I'll look this up again, and the safe. Then I'll send a message to the LOTUS. Don't worry, we have a special code. No one will be able to listen in."

"I expect nothing less from THE ACE." Corvus's smile was gone so quickly it left Felix wondering whether he'd seen it right. But yes, for a moment it had lit the man's face, genuine and RESPECTFUL. Felix felt a warm glow of satisfaction ﬁll his chest.

Quickly he closed the capsule's hatch and reconnected the security systems. When in the morning Bruno came to relieve him, no sign was left of their illegal activities.

*******

With relief Felix watched the shape of Cathay Minor steadily grow in size on the DEPENDABLE's main screen. Time had been dragging and he'd become restless, eager for action. He yawned. It was his night watch - his last aboard the DEPENDABLE if all went well. He had already disabled the security systems on the spare capsule. Now Corvus was working on removing the homing beacon. He'd move that to Bruno's capsule. They'd chosen him because he would take the longest to prove his innocence. Bruno's strength would enable him to withstand brutal interrogation while his slowness would prevent him from convincing his interrogators too quickly of his innocence. When at last the investigators would be ready to dismiss him, the trail to Felix and Corvus would have gone cold.

This was Corvus's idea. Felix felt a tinge of guilt about using Bruno as scapegoat, but shrugged it off. Bruno would survive. Once his interrogators put him to the lie-detector test, his innocence would be proven beyond doubt.

Cathay Minor was too far away yet for a proper assessment but its reddish colour made it look hardly more welcoming than Juliandra. Then slowly, as the planet turned, specks of green and blue began to appear at one edge.

"It is done," came Corvus's voice in his ear.

Felix turned in his lounger in front of the screen. "You made me start." Corvus had a knack of moving silently and suddenly turning up behind you.

Corvus produced a mocking smile. "Bad conscience?"

"Of course not! I'm an artist - not a common criminal! It would be a crime NOT to use my talent. Any idiot can rob a bank, but it needs a genius to perform a sophisticated act like this."

"Quite." Corvus eyed the screen, where more green spots were coming into view on the planet's surface. "We're on schedule. The alarm will go off shortly after 13.00 hours ship time, during lunch when the others will be less alert. The instruments will show a breakdown of the life support system with a rapid loss of oxygen. Rex will have no other option than to order our evacuation."

"Good." He felt glad the waiting was almost over. "I'll warn Lily to keep the LOTUS ready to pick us up." She had been following the DEPENDABLE just out of detector range.

"When Bruno comes to relieve you, go to your cabin and get some sleep," Corvus said. "Best we keep to the routine. Besides," he added, casting him a scrutinising look, "you look as if you're in need of a rest. Take a sleeping pill."

Felix did the next best thing: he lifted a bottle of soma (intended for emergencies only) from the DEPENDABLE's medical supplies. Up to now he'd refrained from pilfering any, not wanting to alarm Amber. The Communications Officer was also in charge of the medical supplies and insisted on checking them regularly - another pointless routine that he supposed had survived from old times. It wouldn't do to alert the others to his lock picking skills. But now that no longer mattered.

In his cabin - alone because Bruno was on watch - Felix slowly emptied the bottle, then fell into a deep slumber.

*******

Felix was woken by the ear-searing blare of a siren. Groggily he sat up, casting aside his blanket. Corvus must have brought the action forward - it couldn't be that late!

But it was, his watch told him. Trying to focus, Felix began to dress, managing to put his foot in the wrong trouser leg of his suit. Amending the mistake, he managed to get the suit on properly, then his boots. Wide-awake now, he ran to the ﬂight deck.

The evacuation was already in full gear. Amber sat at her position, sending out an emergency report to the Company. Jade was collecting the computer discs that held copies of the ship's log. At the back wall Corvus and Bruno were opening the transparent coverings of the escape capsule sluices.

"Ah, Felix," Rex greeted him. The commander looked pale but determined. "I was about to fetch you. The life support system has broken down. We'll have to evacuate. Corvus and Bruno are checking the emergency capsules."

"They're ready," Corvus called from the back.

Rex cast a look over the ﬂight deck. "Then let's go."

They hurried to the capsules. Six of the transparent coverings were open, leaving only the spare capsule's closed. Beyond the coverings Felix could see that the capsules' hatches were also open. Bruno stood in front of his designated capsule, apparently waiting for the order to evacuate.

"Right, inside everyone," Rex shouted.

Bruno, Jade and Amber climbed into their capsules and pulled the transparent doors of the sluices close behind them. Through the plastiglas Felix could just perceive them pulling close the hatches of their capsules. It went so synchronised and disciplined, they must have rehearsed it at some time, he reflected idly.

Rex checked the seals, then pushed the launching buttons, large red knobs at the side of each sluice. The capsules slid from view. "Now you two."

Felix shook his head. "After you." He saw Corvus manoeuvre himself behind Rex.

"No, Felix. I'm the Commander, I go last--"

Corvus's hand came down on Rex's neck. Felix winced in sympathy as the Commander sank down.

"Help me get him into his capsule," Corvus said, taking the unconscious man by the shoulders.

Helping him lift Rex through the hatch, Felix felt his back protest - the Commander was no lightweight. "That was some chop," he commented. "I didn't know you dabbled in karate."

"I am a man of many talents." Corvus closed the hatch and the sluice door, then activated the launch button. While Rex's capsule slid from sight, Corvus turned to the Navigator's capsule, slammed shut the hatch, sealed the sluice door, then stood looking at his watch, his hand on the launch button.

"What are you doing?" Felix asked in consternation.

"This is the one I moved the homing beacon to."

"But we agreed to stick it on Bruno's capsule!" Felix protested.

"I've changed my mind. The investigators might catch on immediately that Bruno is too upright to get involved in any schemes to steal the gold." He punched the launch button and the capsule moved from sight. "I've worked it all out. This capsule will land in the middle of the planet's largest lake, where it'll get stuck at the bottom in the mud. They'll need to charter a ship to retrieve it and that will take time."

"But how are you going to escape--?" Dread overwhelmed him. "Oh no, you're not leaving me behind!"

Corvus produced a superior smile. "The thought did occur to me but I doubt l'd be able to explain your disappearance satisfactory to the smart Lily. However, l am not going to risk being left behind on the barren side of Cathay Minor. I will share your capsule. We'll squeeze in - neither of us is fat."

"But the air!" Felix found his chest constrict at the thought.

"The respirator system will sustain us both. It will only be for a few minutes anyway, while we free fall to the surface." Corvus consulted his watch again. "Now get in, quickly! As soon as we're over the planet's uninhabited side l'll launch the gold capsule and then ours. Shortly after that the DEPENDABLE will enter the atmosphere and start to burn up."

"Then hurry! We don't want to be still aboard when that happens!" Felix quickly climbed into his capsule - he didn't know what he feared more: ﬁre or the dark.

Keeping his eyes on his watch, Corvus began to count down the seconds.

Felix positioned himself with his back against the capsule's hull. "You know, this thing is bigger inside than it looks from the outside." He sighed in relief. "There IS room for the two of us."  
  
"One minute." Corvus hit the gold capsule's launch button, then hurried to Felix's and climbed in.

"Steady on," Felix protested, finding the other's back pressing onto his chest. This thing wasn't as big as he thought! Well, at least they weren't face to face. "I take it this thing can be launched from inside?"

"Of course." Corvus pulled close the hatch. The sudden darkness unnerved Felix. Then he became aware of a soft glow from three small green lights situated in a row above the hatch. The light was just enough to show the movement of Corvus's hand pressing a button. Felix felt a faint heaviness in his guts, as you did when standing in a fast moving lift.

"We're away," Corvus said.

"Snug, isn't it?" Felix lamely joked, just to hear his own voice. How he hated the dark!

"That is not the word I would have chosen."

Felix pulled a face at Corvus's back and mouthed the words "Snooty bastard!" in the safe knowledge the other couldn't see him. The capsule lurched and he was thrown against Corvus. Scared, Felix grabbed him round the waist. "I'm feeling sick- as if I've got a stone on my chest. This can't be right!"

"It's the effect of the acceleration caused by the planet's pull," Corvus said. Felix could just discern him spreading his arms to brace himself against the capsule's sides. "Don't worry, the friction of the atmosphere will soon slow us down."

Indeed, the heaviness on his chest seemed to lift a bit. But Felix found it hard to breathe. "I thought you said we would have enough air!"

"We have. Look at the central of the lights, that's the oxygen indicator. As long as it stays green, you have nothing to worry about."

A bit reassured by the light's steady glow, Felix tried to relax and breathe slowly. It seemed to help - his lungs found enough air. But he became aware of another inconvenience: "It's getting hot in here."

"That is normal. The friction heats up the capsule's outer hull." Corvus's voice held exaggerated patience. "The hull can take it - it's designed for this. Now shut up! We'll be landing soon."

"Can't be soon enough for me." Felix tried to visualise his reunion with Lily - and with the gold. Almost without thought, his hand moved to his pocket and he activated his tracing device for the homing beacon he'd put in the gold capsule (one of the four beacons intended for the waste bags in his original plan). The steady bleeps from the receiver comforted him a bit. He was surprised by their loudness. "The capsule must be nearer than I thought."

"We're following in its trajectory," Corvus said. He sounded smug. "We'll land practically on top of the capsule. I told you l worked it all out."

"You mean we won't have to search for miles around? That's great." Felix began to relax. But then a new worry occurred to him: "What if we end up in a dense forest, where the LOTUS can't land? Or a quagmire?"

"There aren't any forests or quagmires on this side of Cathay Minor," Corvus said. "The land is dry and barren here, consisting of low mountain ranges and large lava fields."

"Lava?" Felix didn't know why the word brought on a tinge of unease.

"Yes, the area is riddled with volcanoes. But because of the lack of water the lava fields are prevented from turning into fertile soil. That's why this side of the planet has remained uninhabited - the lack of water and vegetation."

"Not very friendly surroundings then."

"But nobody around to see us land."

That was true. It seemed that Corvus had thought of everything. This made Felix feel vaguely resentful.

Suddenly the bleeping stopped. "We've lost contact," Felix observed, superﬂuously.

"Your tracer must have broken down," Corvus said.

"Impossible." Felix pressed the receiver's button, desperately willing the bleeping to start again.

"Or it's the homing beacon that's faulty," Corvus remarked.

"Of course not! I developed them myself. They're fully.....What's that?"

Felix stared at the green lights. it took a moment to dawn that there were now only two. Then, a red light came on.

Felix felt his spine turn to ice. "What does that mean?"

"Heat indicator!" Corvus's voice revealed a sudden worry. "The outside temperature is in excess of the hull's tolerance."

Felix tried to fight his oncoming panic. "I thought you said the capsule was designed for this!"

"It is. This heat can't be caused by us entering the atmosphere - that's well behind us. We should be landing any second now."

As if on cue a shock ran through the capsule, then it fell to one side. Felix landed on his back against the streamlined hull, with Corvus on top of him.

"Ouch! This is hot!" He tried to scramble from under Corvus, away from the heat of the hull. "Have we landed?"

Another red light came on, flickering urgently. "Damn!" Corvus hissed. "That's the fire alarm."

"Fire?" Felix's brain refused to take in a reality too horrible to contemplate. "How? Why?"

Corvus turned his face towards him. Even in the faint light Felix could recognise the look of utter defeat "We must have landed in a volcano - an active one!"

"NO! You IDIOT!" Felix felt tears run from his eyes. He made no effort to stop them.

"That's why we lost contact." Corvus's voice came in gasps. "The gold capsule... must have... preceded us. The beacon... stopped... sending... when it... burned." His body went limp.

Trapped under the inert body, Felix began to shake him. "Corvus! Corvus, get up! Let me out!"  
  
No response. It was now so hot he could hardly breath. A whoosh. Felix found himself surrounded by ﬂames. He screamed, then fell into blackness.

*******

*********


	6. The CYMRU Disaster (Avon)

Irritated about Vila's jibe, Avon moved on in Blake's wake. They passed several unmarked doors, their outline just visible in the near dark. He was stopped short by the next illuminated sign: SPACE STATION CYMRU.

"Yours," Blake said.

"Yes, I CAN read." He opened the door and stepped through. "This had better be worth it!" The corridor he found himself in was equally poorly lit. Well, he wasn't going to let himself be intimidated! A small creak of light beckoned at the end where a door stood ajar. Avon hastened towards it, opened the door further and stepped in.

A cabin, large and tidy. He moved to the desk that held a computer. Sitting down in the ergonomic chair in front of the desk, with his back to the door, he switched on the computer and opened the last file he'd been working on. With approval he read the title:

LINKS TO THE FUTURE:  
COMPUTER TECHNOLOGY PROGNOSES  
BY ACADEMICIAN OWAIN

Yes, he was Academician Owain, one of the top computer scientists on the CYMRU, publisher of a number of highly regarded papers on his subject. This was his latest. He knew that his colleagues were sceptical about his ideas on how computer technology would develop, but he was confident he would be proven right. Scrolling to the end of the document, he collected his thoughts and began to type.

A knock on the door disturbed the ﬂow of his thoughts.

"Owain, your dinner." That was Irritating Idris, his assistant.

"The door's open," he shouted. Hearing the door being opened, he added: "Put the tray on the table."

The table stood against the wall right next to the door. Not turning, he waited impatiently for the sound of the door being closed. The faint noises he perceived made him frown in irritation. What was that fool ldris up to?

He turned his head. The scalding for his assistant never left his lips. ldris was there (minus the tray), as were three other persons. A fourth - a large, strong looking man - was just entering, shutting the door behind him and positioning himself in front of it.

Owain didn't know him but he recognised the other man - the rugged face topped by a mass of unruly dark curls was difﬁcult to forget. First Grade Engineer Rhodri was a rather overbearing personality whom Owain had been trying to avoid as much as he could. He wasn't impressed by Rhodri's engineering skills, but the man was a kinsman of the President, which no doubt had landed him the job.

He knew the women also. Caryl, slender of body with a comely face framed by auburn curls, was a communication expert. When she'd joined the team three years ago he'd considered a relationship but decided against it. She seemed the type to go for total commitment, while he preferred pleasure without involvement. There was something vaguely mysterious about her, though, that he found intriguing.

There was nothing subtle about the pretty blonde, Gwenan, who was the pilot of the supply ship. He'd seen her in the mess a few times and, noticing her reaction to men trying to chat her up, had decided to stay away from her.

Rhodri took a step forward. "Owain."

"What do you want?" he snapped. "And be quick! I'm busy." From the corner of his eye he saw ldris scuttle along the wall towards the sleeping section of the cabin, clearly intent on making himself inconspicuous. He'd deal with him later!

"Did you know," Rhodri said, "that this station - WE - are used for the development of weapons of mass destruction?"

Owain had suspected that for some time - some of the experiments carried out in the CYMRU's special section left little room for doubt- but it wasn't his problem. "I'm not interested in moral issues, Rhodri! I do the job I am paid for. What others do with the results is not my concern."

Caryl stared at him as if he was a monster from outer space. "How can you be so selfish?"

"It has become your concern now, Owain," Rhodri said. "Because I'm going to blow up the station."

"What?" Now it was his turn to stare. Rhodri didn't look as if he was joking. Owain turned to Gwenan; she'd struck him as a sensible person. "Has he gone out of his mind?"

"You'd better listen to him," she said.

"The charges are already laid," Rhodri continued, "and will go off in 45 minutes. That will give us enough time to escape in the supply ship but it won't be enough for anyone to find and disarm the explosives. I'm giving you the chance to join us, Owain."

"How generous! In these circumstances, what choice do I have?"

"If you refuse," the man at the door said, "we'll knock you out and leave you in your cabin."

Rhodri nodded. "You know that the capsule holding the Station's living quarters is designed to disengage from the structure in case of a calamity. And it has its own life-support system."

"You will come to no harm," Caryl said.

The thought ﬂashed through him that this could be a trap - a scheme to frame him. No, he doubted the CYMRU's Security Service members were clever enough to go in for such a complicated scheme. The tried tactic was to hide incriminating documents among the victim's possessions to be found by the security guards. Besides, his work was too valuable for the Federation to want to get rid of him. And there was something in Rhodri's manner which told him the man was deadly serious. Obviously the vetting bureau had failed majestically in not spotting his potential for treason. They'd probably considered a kinsman of the President to be above suspicion.

Owain cast Idris a furious look; he should have reported Rhodri as soon as he got wind of his insane conspiracy!

He couldn't trust them to spare his life. They had to kill him to prevent him from later giving evidence against them. So he really had no choice.

"All right, Rhodri, I'll come with you." He managed to make it sound as if he was doing them a favour.

"But I need to fetch some data cubes from the records room." Seeing distrust ﬂare up in Gwenan's eyes, he added: "I've worked too hard on my research projects to see the results being destroyed in the blast."

Copies of the cubes were resting safely in his pocket - he always carried them in case of an emergency evacuation. But he might as well make use of the situation and empty the station's safe. The strong room was next to the records room.

"Right," Rhodri said. "Glyn will go with you." He indicated the large man, who took a step aside to let him through the door.

While Owain went past him, Glyn made a mock bow. Something metallic shone in his short hair. That must be a brain-booster, Owain cheered silently. He'd heard that this medical appliance - a kind of pacemaker for the brain - could be influenced by ultra-sound. A project group was doing experiments with ultra-sound in Lab 5.

Owain opened the door and took a quick look in both directions. The corridor was empty. Not surprising; at this time everybody would be enjoying the chef's creations in the dining room. (Owain would have been there but for the fact that he had a deadline to meet for his paper.) He took the left turn. Glyn came after him.

"I can't recall having seen you around," Owain said, briskly leading the way to the research capsule. "You're new here?"

"No, I'm the cargo handler of the supply ship."

Which meant he would know his way between the landing bay and the storage hold, but not anywhere else about the CYMRU. Good!

They met no one on their way. Outside the door of Lab 5 Owain took a deep breath. Mumbling: "Just a moment, I've left something in there," he pushed open the door and went in, aware that Glyn was following him. The Lab was empty. He'd only been loosely involved in the project, doing the computer analyses, but the equipment was easily recognisable. He hurried to the workbench and ﬂipped the on/off switch.

He heard a gasp behind him. Turning, he saw Glyn had slumped to the ﬂoor. A kick in his ribs conﬁrmed the man was out cold. Owain left him and hastened to the strong room. The industrial crystals stored in the safe were worth a fortune and would enable him to get a new identity and set up a new life. He was one of the few scientists who had access to the safe. Impatiently he entered his pass into the lock on the door of the strong room, and typed in his code. The door slid open.

A man was kneeling in front of the open safe, a hand inside. He turned as if bitten.

"What the hell--" Owain recognised his assistant. "lDRlS!"

"Ow-wain," ldris stammered. "W-we must have had the same idea. W-would be w-wasteful to let the crystals be blown to pieces. I mean--"

"So that's why you refrained from reporting Rhodri!" he cut in, thinking fast. "All right, Idris, we'll share the crystals." No time for arguing now. Later he would ﬁnd a way to relieve the idiot of his share.

The safe held twenty-eight standard crystals. Predictably, there was no cash - nobody needed money on the station. All necessary transactions were done by computer.

"Fourteen each," ldris said, counting and pocketing his share.

Following his example, Owain remarked: "I didn't know you had a talent for picking locks." It was irritating to find such a useful trait in someone he'd regarded as a ﬁfth grade ignorant.

ldris squared his shoulders. "There isn't a lock I can't open. But you never took any interest in me, did you? I was just a slave to be bullied around."

"True." A lesson he wouldn't forget. But now was not the time to ponder. "Let's get out of here!"  
  
"Yeah." ldris consulted his watch while slamming shut the safe door. "Only twenty-three minutes."

They left the room. Owain hurried back to Lab 5. His luck was holding: Glyn was as he'd left him and clearly nobody had come in to raise the alarm. He switched off the ultrasound machine.

Immediately Glyn began to stir. Owain bent over him. "Glyn. GLYN!"

The man sat up, raising a hand to rub his head. "What happened?"

"You fainted." Owain helped him up. "Come on, let's get to your ship before the explosives go off!"

"But the copies--"

Owain tapped his pocket. "I've got them. I remembered l'd left a set here. Now come on, we've only got twenty minutes left!"

It took them eight minutes to reach the landing bay. The supply ship was its only occupant. It was a Utility Class vessel, ugly to look at with its bulging holds but highly functional.

Rhodri leaned out of the airlock, clearly waiting for them. "The others are already inside," he told them while squeezing against the wall to let them pass. As soon as they were in he began to close and seal the airlock.

Owain found the others on the flight deck. ldris looked nervous, Caryl determined and Gwenan, seated at the pilot's position, calm.

Prowling about, ldris observed: "There are only four seats." He pointed at the two rows of chairs at the centre of the flight deck.

"The ship was designed for a crew of four," Gwenan said. "A pilot, co-pilot and two cargo handlers. But the Federation reason that with modern auto-pilot and hauling systems, a crew of two sufﬁces."

"We've got some spare loungers," Glyn said, who'd followed Owain in. He moved to a wall panel, slid it aside and took two folding chairs from the cavity.

Owain quickly sat down on one of the back seats; he wasn't going through a launch in this tub in a folding chair! ldris must have had the same idea because he quickly slid into the other seat.

Rhodri entered. "The airlock is sealed." He sat down in the empty front seat.

Gwenan nodded. "We'll be away in two minutes. Take your positions."

Glyn had secured the loungers to bolts in the ﬂoor. He and Caryl sat down in them and strapped themselves into the safety harnesses.

"About time," Idris commented, glancing at his watch. "This place will go up In twelve minutes!"

Owain leaned over Gwenan's shoulder to look at the small screen in front of her. It showed the large, double launch doors of the landing bay ﬂip open. "Won't our unauthorised launch set the alarms off?"

"No," Rhodri replied. "l've sabotaged the systems. And Caryl disabled all communicators. It will be some time before they'll be able to alert the Federation."

So he had given the matter some thought. But their escape was only the beginning. "As soon as the survivors do manage to make contact, the hunt will be on."

"Yeah," ldris breathed, as if he'd only thought of that now. Typical!

"We'll go straight for Scaleria," Rhodri said. "Which is only fifteen days away. There we'll exchange this ship for another."

"The Scalerians will reﬁt this one so her own designers won't be able to recognise her," Gwenan added.

Glyn suddenly grinned. "I've left a few spare parts, bearing our registration number, strewn over the landing bay. With a bit of luck they'll survive the blast recognisable enough for the salvage crew to deduce the ship was blown up along with the station."

"Launch in ﬁve seconds," Gwenan said. "Hold on." She began to manoeuvre the craft gently through the launch doors. Then they were out. Gwenan engaged the main drive and Owain sat tight as they shot away from the station.

After a few tense minutes Gwenan announced: "We‘re out of the blast range now."

"Good," Rhodri replied. "The explosives should go off in less than a minute."

"I'll relay the image from the aft sensors to the main screen," Gwenan said. The large screen high up in the front wall came to life. In the centre the CYMRU quickly diminished in size, although its distinctive form with the twin compartments remained clearly recognisable.

Suddenly one of the compartments blossomed in a flash of red and yellow. Owain saw the other compartment fall away, apparently unharmed.

"It's disengaged," Rhodri remarked.

Owain opened his mouth to tell him they were able to gauge so much from the image, but the words never got out. To his horror he saw a piece of burning debris shot out from the carnage, heading straight for the undamaged living quarters. While he watched helplessly it hit the compartment, which immediately exploded.

Caryl was the first to break the shocked silence: "It must have hit the nuclear core. At no other place could it have caused such instant destruction."

The colour had drained from Rhodri's face. "I didn't want this."

"You're not to blame," Glyn said. "Nobody could have foreseen this."

"At least it was quick," Gwenan remarked. "They can't have suffered."

"That must be a consolation!" ldris murmured with thick sarcasm.

Still awed by his own narrow escape, Owain found himself for once lost for words.

*******

They reached Scaleria without mishap. The owners of a large spaceship yard were happy to exchange the supply vessel, with its precious cargo, for a small, fast luxury craft. Glyn uttered doubt about the ethics of providing themselves with such an item of decadence, but Gwenan pointed out that this ship would mark them as rich layabouts. As such they'd be unlikely to attract the interest of any police force. Although it was plausible reasoning, Owain suspected she just longed to pilot something more sophisticated than a standard Federation supply vessel. He couldn't blame her.

The Scalerians also provided them with new identities. Their new ship was registered on a neutral planet, which brought them out of Federation law - although this wouldn't stop Space Command shooting them out of the sky if advised of their true identity.

"Our ship must have a name," Gwenan said, sitting down in the pilot's seat, the front central. The compact flight deck had two rows of three comfortable chairs, each with its own console.

Owain sat down at her right; thus he could keep an eye on her piloting. "I don't see why. Just THE SHIP will do ﬁne."

"No," Caryl said. "I agree with Gwenan. This ship should have a name."

"The HERALD OF FREEDOM," Rhodri suggested.

Owain cast him a look of contempt. "I can't think of anything more certain to earn us the Federation's attention."

"Why not make it just the HERALD?" Glyn said. ldris nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good - knights, chivalry."

"All right, the HERALD it is," Gwenan said quickly, as if to forestall a protest from Rhodri.

"Right." Rhodri sounded impatient, as if the naming not really interested him. He moved to the star chart screen at the front of the flight deck. "Now let's see where we can do the Federation most damage."

"What?" Owain exclaimed, wondering whether he'd heard correctly.

"That wasn't the bargain, Rhodri," Gwenan said.

"I should hope not!" ldris looked up in alarm.

"Serves you right for not reporting him!" Owain mumbled. Aloud he said: "If you insist on committing suicide, Rhodri, go right ahead. But do not expect me to follow your example!"  
  
"Exactly!" ldris nodded emphatically. "I want to live forever."

"And I want to make an end to the Federation's expansion!" Rhodri snapped. His eyes began to shine with outrage. "Don't you see what they're doing? Conquering independent colonies, forcing the inhabitants into slavery."

"Rhodri is right," Caryl said. "We must put a stop to that!"

"The six of us?" ldris asked incredulously.

"The FlVE of you," Owain corrected, still trying to get a grip on Rhodri's insane proposals.

"And how do you propose we do it?" Gwenan asked Rhodri.

"The Special Reaction Force is the spearhead of the Federation's scheme. Space Command don't have the troops for a lasting occupation of every conquered planet. So after the initial brutal and bloody submission of the inhabitants, a puppet regime is set up and the troops leave for the next planet on their list. Usually the survivors of the occupation are too subdued to rebel, but if an uprising occurs, a Special Reaction Team is sent in to deal with the rebels. Now..." Rhodri's ﬁnger sliced the air. "The backbone of the system is communication. In order to send in a team at the first sign of trouble, Space Command must keep in contact with the Colonies at all times. To this end they have set up a chain of vast communication complexes, covering every conquest in the Galaxy."

"So if we destroy those," Glyn said, sounding dishearteningly eager, "they won't be able to send in troops."

"Enabling the conquered peoples to free themselves from their suppressers," Caryl  
added.

Rhodri nodded. "That is what I plan to do."

To say that Owain did not like what he was hearing was an understatement. "You're insane! It is certain death!"

"Not if we plan our attacks carefully," Caryl said.

"Anyone who objects," Rhodri said, and Owain found his gaze on him, is free to leave."

The temptation was great; the purloined crystals would assure him a comfortable start to a new life. But no, this was a matter of principle! Rhodri had destroyed the life he was used to, the life he'd enjoyed. That called for compensation. "My stake in this ship is as great as yours, Rhodri. I won't have it used for suicide missions."

"Well, I'm with Rhodri," Glyn declared. "And I," Caryl said. "We must stop the Federation."

"It is my ship too," Gwenan observed. "I'm prepared to assist Rhodri, provided we plan our missions carefully and do nothing rash."

Owain stared at her. He'd expected more common sense from her. But then he caught something in her gaze at Rhodri. With mental shrug he dismissed her; one can't ﬁght against infatuation.

"So, Owain, you stand alone," Rhodri said. "Not quite." He looked at ldris; surely HE would back him?

"W-well, the fact is, Owain," his assistant stammered. "I always like to go with the majority. And it will be nice to be able to put my talents to use - tackling locks worth my skills."

Owain dealt him the look he deserved. Mumbling darkly: "I won't forget this, ldris," he left the ﬂight deck, heading for his cabin with as much dignity as he could muster.

*******

In his cabin - small but luxuriously furnished - he sank down on his bed. So, he was stuck with a bunch of suicidal sheep intent on following a maniac. He should leave now. But no, he was not going to let Rhodri get away with it! HE, Owain, was staying; which meant the others had to leave.

Yes, that was it - deprive Rhodri of his attack force. Without his followers, he'd have no option but to abandon his doomed ﬁght.

How to get rid of them? Killing them would be easy but seemed rather crude. There must be a more inventive, INTELLIGENT way. Why not tempt them into leaving, one at a time? Now THAT did have a certain appeal. So, he had to find out what it would need to make them leave. Every person has a lever - discovering those of this bunch of idiots would be a nice challenge.

Who to target ﬁrst? Idris was the most feckless of the lot. But this meant that whenever he'd convinced him, Rhodri would ﬁnd an argument to sway him again. Besides, he wasn't yet sure he'd want to get rid of Irritating ldris; his special talent might come in useful.

Gwenan was a lost cause as long as she went all starry-eyed in Rhodri's presence. It would pass, though, and then she might prove a valuable ally.

Caryl? She seemed rather taken by Rhodri's mission. Now he wished he had tried to get involved with her. Clearly he needed to get to know more about her.

What about Glyn? Except for his strength, he seemed to have no special talents. Someone who needed a brain booster to keep him going could hardly be called an asset. This meant that Rhodri would have fewer objections to losing him than to losing any of the others. Owain smiled to himself; if one sheep had left the ﬂock, the others might ﬁnd it easier to break away also.

First he needed to know what might entice Glyn to leave. This called for a bit of socialising, something he detested but could bring off adequately when the need arose.

Rhodri had taken up commanding the HERALD with zest, dealing out tasks and making a round-the-clock watch duty rostrum. Totally superfluous in a ship designed to let the owner lounge while the instruments do the work. The HERALD had a state-of-the-art automatic pilot and more sensors and back-up systems than a Federation pursuit ship. But Rhodri seemed to like playing commander. It made Owain wonder whether at one time he might have applied for the Federation Space Academy and been rejected.

On the evening of Glyn's next scheduled night watch Owain stayed on at the flight deck, tinkering with a piece of electronics, after the others had gone to their cabins. It proved not difﬁcult to make Glyn talk about his life and ambitions. Before long an interesting name fell:

"The Companions of Mercy," Glyn said. "I don't know if you've heard of them?"

"A semi-religious order whose members went to support the victims of the Great Disorder of the 25th Century Old Calendar." Owain liked to show off his knowledge. "That was a period of lawlessness when the colonised worlds were left to their fate by Earth and were consequently ransacked by disbanded soldiers, deserters and pirates. The Companions of Mercy travelled to the colonies to teach the people how to grow their own crops and use their planet's own resources instead of relying on supplies from Earth. They also helped them build warning systems and weapons so they could defend themselves against marauders."

Glyn nodded. "They helped the people on my home world. Tales of their support have gone down through the generations. They really made a difference, you know." Something resembling enthusiasm appeared on Glyn's usually bland features. "It must be great to be able to help people help themselves."

"Surely there's scope for you out there?" Owain encouraged. "Blowing up a communication base will save the planets from instant retribution, but it won't feed the masses. And one of the Federation's punishing methods is to withhold food. There must be communities in need of someone to teach them the old agricultural ways."

"I know about farming," Glyn said pensively. "My home world is a farming community. I left because i wanted to see other worlds, but now I wouldn't mind settling down somewhere and go back to farming. All the more if I could help others in the process."

Owain left it at that. Rising from his seat, he said goodnight, convinced that Glyn would go and follow his heart when the opportunity presented itself.

*******

Glyn held out his hand. "Good-bye, Rhodri."

"I'm still convinced you could be of more use with us," Rhodri said, ignoring the hand.

Glyn shook his head, producing a mild smile. He stood in the ship's airlock, facing the rest of the HERALD's crew. The landing pad was at the outskirts of a settlement and the open outer door gave a view of wooded, undulating hills. Gusts of bracing air blew in.

"These people need me," Glyn said calmly. "Dageraad has been dependent on supplies brought in from other worlds. But the planet has enough potential for growing our own food."

With satisfaction Owain noticed the possessive pronoun; Glyn was already identifying with his new compatriots.

"The Federation are bound to retaliate for the destruction of their Communication complex by cutting the supply line," Glyn went on. 'We have food stocks for sitting out the next six months. Just enough time to get things organised and harvest the ﬁrst crop."

"Surely you could tell them how to do it?" Rhodri suggested. "Leave detailed instructions."

Glyn shook his head more firmly. "No, Rhodri, my mind is made up."

"We had agreed, Rhodri," Owain said tersely, "that anyone was free to leave at anytime."

"Yes," Rhodri replied. "And I respect Glyn's decision." He took Glyn's hand. "l'lI give you three years. Then l'll come back for you."

"We'll see." Glyn went on to shake hands. "Goodbye, Gwenan, Caryl, ldris..."

"I'll miss you, me old pal," ldris said, pumping the proffered hand. Having accompanied Glyn on a tour of the settlement, he looked the worse for wear. Although not bothering with food crops, apparently the settlers had experimented with brewing an alcoholic drink from the local flora. Going by Idris's state, the result was quite potent, Owain reflected while dutifully shaking Glyn's large hand.

Glyn turned and left, swiftly walking towards the group of people waiting for him. He looked back once, waved, turned left and disappeared from view.

"Right," Rhodri said, closing the airlock. "Let's get going."

"Another attack on a communication centre?" Owain asked, taking his flight deck seat. "By now word of your escapades must have reached Space Command."

"Owain's right," Gwenan said. "We've been lucky so far, but ere long we'll ﬁnd the Federation lying in wait for us."

"That's why we'll change tactics." Rhodri replied briskly. The prospect of action seemed to bring him out of his anger about Glyn's departure. "While they waste their scarce resources guarding the remaining communication centres, we'll go for the nearest weapon development base."

"This is insane!" Owain had long ago stopped amazing himself about Rhodri's rash stupidity - or so he'd thought!

ldris looked up in alarm. "We'll never get near."

"Their security codes are the same as those on the CYMRU,"Caryl said. "We'll have no trouble walking in."

Owain idly studied her thin face, radiant with zeal. She was going to be his next target. in the past weeks he'd come to know some interesting details about her. In the intimacy of the HERALD, and encouraged by Rhodri's interest (which Owain had noticed didn't go down well with Gwenan), she'd been less reticent than on the CYMRU, and had revealed some of her past.

Caryl was born on Tencia, a planet with an isolationist government. The Tenciani were known for their advanced hypnosis, which they used to keep dissenters in check. In the past it had helped them develop a united and prosperous community, but now the government had turned into a dictatorship, curbing any independent thought. Caryl had been banished for failing the Test of Obedience and Loyalty, which had been devised to weed out those showing an immunity to hypnosis. The test was taken by anyone reaching the age of 21, and those who failed were mercilessly cast out and exiled.

Most of the exiles had settled on Floribunda, an independent planet a few solar systems away from Tencia. Wanting to do something more positive with her life, Caryl had applied for a post on the CYMRU. The Tenciani being renowned for their work in communications, the Federation had welcomed her. But Caryl's enthusiasm about working In one of the galaxy's most advanced research stations had soured when she became aware of the content of the research projects. She and Rhodri had planned the CYMRU's destruction together.

Owain sighed; it would be difficult to lure Caryl away from the HERALD and Rhodri's cause. The only way he could see to work, was to present her with a chance of toppling the Tencia regime. Surely the opportunity for freeing her own people from oppression would take precedence over other worthwhile causes!

The first step would be to get her into contact with the exiles on Floribunda; talk about revenge and toppling the regime would be rife among them. The problem was finding a plausible reason for the HERALD to visit Floribunda, Having no precious ores or minerals, the planet was not likely to attract the Federation's attention, so Rhodri would see no reason for going there.

Owain was still pondering the problem when matters were taken out of his hands.

*******

The sound of a siren shattered the night's peaceful silence in the weapons development base's computer room. Cursing, Owain tossed his last two bombs behind a console and ran out. Lighting his path with his torch, he made his way back through the empty corridors to the spacecraft-parking plot at the back. His luck held: he met no-one and the plot was still deserted, the HERALD standing ready for take-off amidst the other craft. Good, it meant HE could get away, even if the others failed to make it. Then ldris came running towards the ship, quickly followed by the women who were half-carrying Rhodri.

"What happened?" Owain asked, while moving through the open airlock straight for his flight deck seat.

"We ran across the night watch squad," Gwenan panted, dropping into the pilot's seat.

"ldris panicked," Caryl spat.

"Not my fault," the accused piped up, while helping her to lower Rhodri into a seat. The HERALD's 'commander' seemed to have lost consciousness.

Caryl quickly sealed the airlock door. "You should have behaved as if you were part of the team, as you were told!"

"Ready for take off," Gwenan said. "Strap yourselves in, it's going to be rough."

"What's the point?" ldris whined. "They're going to come after us in droves!"

"No they won't." Owain reached for the detonator switch on his remote control. "I'll set off the bombs as soon as we're out of the blast range. You didn't bring any back, did you, ldris? It won't do to blow ourselves up in the process."

"Of course not! I'd already planted them."

The HERALD speeded away. Owain adjusted the screen on his console, counted to seven and ﬂipped the detonator switch. The screen showed the base going up in a bouquet of smoke and ﬂames. "They won't have had time for alerting Space Command."

"That's right," Caryl said. "They must have still been organising search parties."

"Exactly." Owain began to relax a bit. "They'd want to catch us and thus avoid having to own up to the fact they had intruders at their supposedly impregnable base."

"How's Rhodri?" Gwenan asked.

"Not well," Caryl replied. "He's been hit in the shoulder and thigh. I can stem the bleeding and patch him up, but he'll need professional treatment to repair the damage."

"Then we'll go straight for the nearest neutral planet with a decent hospital," Gwenan said.

Owain punched in the request on his console and read the answer: "Which is Bavo, the only habitable planet in the Haarlem system. The planet is independent and has ﬁrst grade medical facilities for those who can pay for it."

"But how can we pay?" Gwenan asked. "We don't have anything left from our last raid."

"And we didn't get the time to empty the base's vault," ldris added. The emptying of their targets' vaults paid for their sustenance. Rhodri's insistence on using any surplus for his cause, though, meant they seldom had money to spare.

Owain patted his pocket, where the fourteen industrial crystals were resting snugly. It would be worth his while spending a tiny portion of his wealth to get Rhodri off his back. "I might be able to help. I have some private means." Catching Gwenan's suspicious gaze, he cast her an insincere smile. "I ﬁnd contingency planning always useful."

*******

With satisfaction Owain watched Rhodri's unconscious form being transferred from the stretcher to the hospital bed. The orderlies were brisk, the waiting nurses cheerful and the doctor reassuring. All seemed competent.

"Right," he told Gwenan, who had accompanied Rhodri in the ambulance. "I've deposited a payment that should cover the bill. It includes a room for you in the hospital's guest house, so you can stay with him here until his recovery." It had been easy to exchange the crystal for cash. He produced a wad of bank notes and offered them to her. "Some spending credits."

She eyed the notes, then him, with open suspicion. "You wouldn't be trying to get rid of me?"

"Someone has to keep an eye on Rhodri. If you'd rather l asked Caryl...?"

She quickly shook her head, but he saw her suspicion hadn't disappeared entirely. Another hard glance, then she shrugged. "You will ﬁnd it difﬁcult to abscond with the HERALD without a pilot."

Owain held up his right hand. "If it will set you mind at rest, I'm willing to give you my word I will not engage another pilot during your absence. I am a man of my word."

She pocketed the notes without another word and turned her back on him to talk to the doctor.

Owain left, smiling to himself. Let her think that without her the ship was stranded!

Back aboard the HERALD he told Caryl and Idris: "The doctor has reassured us Rhodri will make a full recovery. It will take time, though. Gwenan is going to stay with him." He closed and sealed the airlock door, then sat down in the pilot's seat. "I intend to take the opportunity to do some shopping. I need some specialised circuits and the nearest planet to get them is Floribunda."

Calmly he started on the pre-ﬂight procedure,while waiting for the objections.

"We can't leave the others," Caryl said.

"You can't fly this thing." ldris looked alarmed. "You're not a pilot."

Owain let his smile mirror his self-satisﬁed mood: "I can, and I am. I spent my National Service in the Space Fleet. I had opted for the Space Branch hoping that my talent with computers would land me a non-combatant position. In the end it did, but before that they insisted on dragging me through a full Space Pilot course. I am a qualiﬁed pilot."

"For the military, maybe." ldris seemed irritatingly unimpressed. "I've heard ﬂying a civil craft is much more complicated."

"Then you've heard wrong. When you can handle a pursuit ship you can handle anything! Besides, I've been watching Gwenan."

"But we can't leave the others," Caryl repeated. "They'll be perfectly all right. We can go back for them later," Owain said. "Now take your positions."

"No, wait." ldris sat down all the same. "I want to make my will first."

Owain started the engine. The HERALD made a perfect launch. Once they were clear of the planet's atmosphere, he fed the details of their destination into the autopilot. With that handy device, even an ignorant like Idris could fly a plane but Owain wasn't going to tell him that.

*******

The second bar Owain tried on Floribunda proved to house a group of Tencian exiles. Better still, one of them turned out to be Caryl's younger sister. Mayanda was also exiled because of her immunity to hypnotism. Thanking his stars for this unexpected piece of luck, Owain hurried to fetch Caryl. ldris came with them to watch the happy reunion.

Predictably Caryl was torn between joining her sister and her loyalty to Rhodri.

"Why don't you join us, Mayanda?" ldris suggested. “We've got a place vacant on the HERALD now Glyn has left. I'm sure Rhodri will welcome you."

"Yes," Caryl chimed in.

Owain clenched his ﬁsts, longing to place them round ldris's scraggy neck and squeeze the life out of him! Through his rage he saw Mayanda shake her head.

"I'm sorry, I can't." She gave a sad smile. "My place is here. We are nearly ready to return to Tencia and take control." She indicated a suave looking man sitting at the next table. "Lenaron has been a civil servant until he fell out of grace - he knows all the entry codes to the government palace. With his help we can march straight in." Her eyes began to shine with fervour. "We HAVE to take this chance."

"You are right, sister," Caryl said, a bit reluctantly to Owain's ears. Turning to him, she added: "I have to stay and help my people return democracy to our planet. You must explain this to Rhodri. I am not deserting him. As soon as I am no longer needed here, I will return." Owain found her eyes on him, they seemed to probe right into his soul. "You WILL return to Rhodri, Owain? You won't abandon him?"

Taking her hands in his, he chose his words carefully: "You have my word that I will not leave him stranded." Not quite sure what made him do it, he kissed her gently on the cheek.

With a sweet smile, she whispered: "Good-bye for now, Owain." It left him with a faint feeling of loss.

On their way back to the ship Idris burst out: "You didn't mean that, did you? Going back? I mean, Rhodri is a nice fellow. I like him - really I do. But he's taking too many risks. His luck can't hold forever."

Owain smiled at him. "Exactly my idea."

"But you gave your word!"

"Ah..." He held up his hand to stem the protest. "All I said was that I will not leave him stranded. And I won't. We'll buy him another ship."

Idris's forehead creased in suspicion. "We?"

"You can donate one of your crystals for the good cause."

"Now that's not fair!"

"It is, since I have already spent one of mine paying for Rhodri's treatment." Owain knew he was going to win this argument. "Besides, now we're rid of the others, we can dedicate ourselves to acquiring wealth. We'll have the money spent replaced a hundred times."

A smile began to spread over Idris's face. "Now that's what I want to hear."

Owain nodded, satisﬁed; his hunch to hang on to Idris had been right.

Back on Bavo they bought a small but fast ship, the LARESSA. Owain arranged to have it delivered to Gwenan, so he wouldn't have to come face to face with her. In a bout of impishness he had the transfer deed made out in Gwenan's assumed name. It would make her independent from Rhodri, if ever her infatuation would wane.

He contacted the hospital to enquire about Rhodri, and was told that the patient was making a satisfactory recovery and expected to be discharged in a few days.

Time to leave, Owain decided. The HERALD was his now, and he planned never to meet up with Rhodri again.

*******

Ten years went by, happy years in which they alternated between theft schemes, working on inventions, and periods of leisure. They acquired vast wealth. Owain ﬁnished his life's work, a portable computer able to hack into other computers. This meant he no longer had to do the tedious work of getting past security systems and passwords; all that could now be left to the machine.

After the first demonstration Irritating Idris cast a critical eye over the transparent cube with the flashing coloured lights inside. "He should have a name."

Owain gave him a disdainful stare. "It's just a machine."

"Yeah, but he sounds a lot like you." Idris grinned. "I'll call him TUB - Transparent Uppity Bastard."

Better let the idiot have his little joke. Owain sat down to instruct the autopilot. "This calls for a celebration."

"The best suggestion I've heard today," Idris said, dropping down into his seat. "Let's set course for the nearest leisure centre!"

But they would never get there. On the evening of their second day into the voyage to Gardinos, Owain was about to retire to his cabin when the autopilot's alarm went off.

Idris came running in, rubbing his eyes. "How can a man have a decent sleep with that racket going on - what's the matter?"

"We're on a collision course with another ship," Owain said, trying to make sense of the data on his screen. "The autopilot has sent out a warning, but the ship keeps approaching our ﬂight path."

ldris sank into his seat. "Then change over to manual and let's get the hell out of her way!"

"Yes." Owain calmly took his seat. "Don't panic, we've still got--"

"Attention, HERALD," came a male voice through the open channel. "This is the trader MOZULLAH calling the HERALD."

"The MOZULLAH!" ldris had gone pale. "That's an Amagon ship."

Owain frowned. Ofﬁcially, the Amagon were traders but they had a reputation for piracy that was unsurpassed. "Are you sure?"

ldris nodded. "I met her crew in the Sunrise Bar - you remember, at the Ludentia Ultra resort."

Owain spoke into the microphone: "We hear you, MOZULLAH."

"HERALD, this is Chieftain Ariq speaking. We know who you are, Academician Owain."

"I don't know what you're talking about." Owain cursed himself for managing to sound so unconvincing. "My name is --"

"Spare your breath! We know the truth about the Space Station CYMRU! The Federation will be very interested in hearing what happened to it. However," the voice became brisk, "we are businessmen. The reward for solving the CYMRU mystery is five hundred thousand credits. Double that sum, and I'll let you go."

ldris looked aghast. "A million credits!"

Thoughts were racing through Owain's head. Keep them talking! "What makes you think I own such a sum?"

"Your life of crime has not gone unnoticed. Now, don't try my patience! Slow down your ship and open your outer airlock door. We will attach a transfer tube. Then you will come out with your hands above your head."

"He'll take our money, then hand us over to the Federation anyway," ldris whispered.

Nodding, Owain switched off the microphone. "Gather your possessions, then go to the shuttle bay. Hurry!" While Idris obeyed, he switched on the mike again: "All right, Ariq, I accept your terms. But I want your word that you won't double-cross me."

"You have it." The word of an Amagon wasn't worth anything, but Ariq might just be conceited enough to think Owain would believe him.

Owain disengaged the autopilot and reversed the engine, then cut it off to stow down the ship. He operated the control that opened the outer airlock door. It would take time for the MOZULLAH to get the transfer tube in place. He picked up his computer and hurried to his cabin. It only took a moment to gather his most precious belongings. The bulk of his wealth rested safely in various bank accounts, but he always made sure to hang on to a generous amount of pocket money for emergencies.

He took one other item, quickly performing the necessary adjustments. A small remote control went into his pocket. Determinedly, he made a quick visit to the engine compartment, then hurried to the shuttle bay.

The shuttle was a small two-seater, meant for short shopping trips that didn't merit going through the trouble of landing the HERALD. He found ldris already sitting in the back seat. Owain handed him the computer, then climbed into the front seat. He pulled the hatch shut and started the engine.

"What are you planning?" ldris asked, clearly alarmed. "We can't get away without being seen."

"Oh yes we can." Owain dealt him a triumphant smile. "Their attention will be on getting the transfer tube in place, at the other side of the ship."

ldris scowled. "So we can sneak out the back way, but as soon as we're clear of the ship the shuttle will come into view."

"No, it won't." Owain allowed himself another smile. "It's time to put another invention to the test. I've build an anti-detection shield, which should keep us off their sensors."

If possible, ldris began to look even more apprehensive. "Are you sure it'll work?"

"i can't think of a better way to ﬁnd out." How lucky that, for testing purposes, he'd decided to install the shield in the shuttle rather than the HERALD!

No time to wait for the air to be pumped out of the bay. He pushed the emergency button that sent the signal for the bay hatch to open. With held breath he waited until the manoeuvre was completed, then let the shuttle drift out with the rush of escaping air. He activated the shield, then steered the shuttle away from the ship. A quick glance through the rear window told him the tube had been attached. Slowly he let out his breath while the distance between them and their pursuers increased. He could see no signs that the shuttle had been noticed.

The Amagon spacecraft was about six times the HERALD's size. The ships were some twenty metres apart, the length of the transfer tube. Owain's hand reached for the remote control in his pocket. Suddenly he felt an acute pain of loss. But it had to be done! Just escaping wasn't enough; the MOZULLAH's crew had to be silenced.

"Don't look behind you," he told Idris while pressing the remote control's button.

Even with their eyes averted the flare was almost blinding. Caught by the shock wave, the shuttle rocked, then shod forward in its wake.

"The HERALD's gone," ldris exclaimed, looking through the back window.

Fighting to keep control of the shuttle, Owain had no time to look over his shoulder. "And the MOZULLAH?"

"Gone too. There's nothing left except for a lot of burning wreckage."

"Any signs of survivors?"

"Are you kidding? Anyone out there must have been incinerated instantly!"

"Good. That means there's no-one left to inform the Federation of our identity."

"Unless they told their friends." You could always rely on ldris to go for the most sombre scenario. Usually Owain was inclined to agree with him, but not this time.

"I doubt that. Chieftain Ariq wouldn't want anyone else to cash in, so he'd keep his knowledge to himself."

"Maybe." Predictably, ldris found something else to worry about: "What about us? We'll never make it to Gardinos in this thing. We won't even make it to the nearest planet!"

Owain turned his head to give him a disdainful stare. "Do you think I hadn't considered this before hatching my plan? We've got enough air to reach the nearest Space Emergency Shelter, which is SES 7-4632." Space Emergency Shelters were small beacons, situated at regular intervals between the star systems. Although unmanned, they were equipped with air, water and food, and an emergency communicator to summon help. "There we'll just have to sit tight until the rescue services arrive."

*******

They made it safely to the shelter. In due course a rescue craft arrived and shipped them to the nearest planet, Samira Parva, where they bought another spacecraft. The PUSSYCAT was smaller than the HERALD, but just as fast and luxurious.

"We'll have to change her name," Owain said, eyeing the large black letters on the ship's silver stem with a shudder.

Idris shook his head. "You can't do that, it's deemed unlucky to change a ship's name."

It was astounding how some feats of superstition managed to survive the centuries! "I didn't hear you object when Rhodri renamed the HERALD."

"And look what happened - the HERALD's gone! Besides, with a ship named PUSSYCAT we'll be regarded as harmless eccentrics."

Idris did have a point there, although Owain wasn't going to tell him so! Entering the ship, he said over his shoulder: "We'll discuss this later. Right now we have more pressing matters to deal with."

Grinning, Idris followed him onto the small but comfortable flight deck. "Yeah, like setting course for Gardinos."

"Later." Owain sat down in the pilot's seat. The ship was equipped for four, although the life support systems could sustain twice that number. "First I want to find out who betrayed me to the Amagons."

"You can't mean that," ldris protested. "I mean, the danger's over. Ariq's dead and can't speak anymore. Who cares where he got his information from?"

"I do," Owain hissed, half to himself. "Apart from us, only four people in the whole galaxy know our real names and our involvement with the CYMRU." He counted them off on his fingers: "Rhodri, Gwenan, Caryl and Glyn."

"And the Scalerians," Idris said.

"The Scalerians never ask for details. In fact they don't want to know, so they can't be pressed for information. No, Idris, it has to be one of those four."

Idris shrugged his shoulders. "Even if one of them has been loose-tongued, what does it matter?"

His indifference only served to fuel Owain's determination. "I WILL find out who betrayed me!"

"No, Owain, please." Idris dropped into the next seat. "Let's go to Gardinos. Their lakeside-entertainment came top in last year's GALAXWlDE's consumer poll."

Ignoring him, Owain followed his own train of thought: "We can rule out Rhodri. Gwenan seems too sensible, Caryl too honourable. Which leaves Glyn as our most likely suspect." He entered the course for Dageraad into the autopilot. "He'd better come up with a very good explanation!"

*******

Deﬂated, Owain scanned the ruins of what had been Dageraad's main settlement. Most of the ﬂimsy buildings had collapsed, the sturdiest stood with the unmistakable air of abandonment. On the landing pad they'd found wreckage, of what Owain had identiﬁed as a Federation cruiser, strewn over a large area and partly overgrown. There, as here at the site of the settlement, the planet's vegetation was reclaiming its territory.

His eye was caught by a large ﬁeld in the distance, where knee-high weeds were competing with the stocky grass. Four large pieces of wood, standing upright at the corners, didn't seem natural. When he reached the nearest he saw that the thick post was coated with a kind of preservative. Rows of names were burned in the wood. Every name was followed by a figure, presumably the person's age. At the top was just one date, seven years ago. Owain eyed the ﬁeld; it must be the site of a mass grave.

Idris came running from the among the ruins, carrying a large piece of wood. "Look what I've found."

Owain studied the find. The piece was about 20 by 50 centimetres, probably a plank from one of the settlement's huts. It was treated with the same preservative as the grave markers and words had been burned into the wood in the same manner.

"Where did you find this?"

"Hidden in a hollow tree." Idris had tears in his eyes. "That time when Glyn and l were doing a tour of the village, I pointed at the tree and joked it was a good place to leave a secret message."

"He had no paper and ink here," Owain mused, "so he used a material he was familiar with from childhood." He read the text, crudely burnt into the wood:

FEDERATION CAME. WE WERE READY FOR THEM. TOLD SURVIVORS TO LEAVE US ALONE. THEY RETURNED NEXT YEAR. RELEASED DEADLY GERM. ALL DIED EXCEPT ME. BURIED THEM. MADE BOMB. WILL DESTROY FED. SHIP WHEN IT LANDS. GOODBYE. GLYN

The date was etched in at the end, as an afterthought.

"That's seven years ago," Idris said.

Owain bit back a sarcastic reply about stating the obvious. "Where would he have got the bomb from?" Idris continued.

"Probably made from a local chemical deposit." Owain shrugged his shoulders; the question was academic. "Glyn can't have been our traitor. Ariq wouldn't have waited seven years to go after us, he must have acquired the information recently. Which rules out Glyn or any of the settlers. Even if he had revealed our identity to them, no-one was left alive to tell the Amagon."

"Right," Idris said, tentatively taking a few steps towards the PUSSYCAT, "so Glyn's in the clear. Now we can go to Gardinos."

"No," Owain decided, brushing past him as he strode back to the ship. "If it wasn't Glyn, it has to be Caryl." He entered the airlock.

Idris followed him in. "No, I can't believe that of her."

"Not for gain," Owain was willing to concede. "But hers is a close-knit community, maybe even enhanced by their exile. She might have found it difficult to keep secrets from her friends." He sealed the airlock door, then fed the co-ordinates for Floribunda into the auto-pilot.

*******

Time seemed to have stopped on Floribunda. They found the Tencia exiles in the same bar, Mayanda among them.

"Caryl's dead," she told them. "She died shortly after you left, during our raid on Tencia." A sad smile appeared on her thin face. Owain felt a lump in his throat - she looked so much like her sister. "We were thoroughly beaten and were lucky to escape back to our ship. Many didn't make it. Caryl had joined the vanguard - they were wiped out." At the sound of someone entering, she stopped speaking. Her face lit up. "Lenaron." Owain recognised the civil servant whose knowledge of the entry codes was supposed to have got them into the Tencia seat of government. He looked thinner and grey now streaked his brown hair. He had two children with him, a girl of about seven and a boy who looked a few years younger.

"Lenaron and l have wed," Mayanda said. "These are our children, Caryl and Rhodri."

"Rhodri?" Owain asked, feeling a sudden irrational resentment. Mayanda nodded. "A tribute to Caryl's friend. She's told us how they fought the Federation's expansion."

"What exactly did she tell about their early years?" Owain asked.

Mayanda looked surprised. "You must know - you were there."

Shaking his head, he chose his words with care. "I came later. They never talked much about their past."

"She met him shortly after her banishment," Mayanda said. "She was impressed by his cause and joined him. He had a spacecraft, the HERALD - but of course you know that."

"Yes." It sounded as if Caryl had kept quiet about her involvement with the CYMRU. This made sense - putting her expertise at the disposal of an alien - and totalitarian organisation was not something she'd want to own up to. And if she had kept her secret from her nearest and dearest, it seemed very unlikely she would have told anyone else. Besides, if she had died shortly after their last meeting, there had been very little time. Her thoughts would have been occupied with the imminent revolution, not with her past. Moreover, as he‘d reasoned before: someone gaining the solution of the CYMRU disaster would not sit on that information for ten years. No, the betrayal of the secret had to be a recent event.

Which left Rhodri and Gwenan. Owain couldn't imagine Rhodri betraying him, but Gwenan? Maybe him taking the HERALD from her had riled her deeper than he'd anticipated.

He took his leave, extracted ldris from the arms of the barmaid, and returned to the PUSSYCAT. "Fetch my computer," he told Idris as soon as they were spaceborne.

Muttering, Idris obeyed and placed the machine on the spare seat. Owain switched it on. "I want you to hack into the Space Administration Centre computer. Find out the current whereabouts of a spacecraft called the LARESSA." He added the ship's registration number. ldris gave him a worried stare. "What are you up to now?"

"Caryl can't have been the traitor." Owain gave him a quick summary of what he'd learned. "So it must have been Gwenan."

"Owain, please, PLEASE leave it! Let's go to Gardinos, before the season's out."

"We'll go to Gardinos," Owain said, "when l have dealt with the traitor!"

Any further comment was cut short by the computer announcing: "l have penetrated and consulted the SAC records. There is no information about the current whereabouts of the LARESSA."

Owain turned to the computer. "Why not?"

"Because the ship was lost with all hands in the Sparkling Zone six years ago."

Idris dropped into his seat. "That's it, then. They're dead."

That had been Owain's ﬁrst thought, but now he began to feel a nagging doubt. Gwenan and Rhodri had feigned the destruction of a ship once before. He asked the computer: "What information do you have of the Sparkling Zone?"

"The Sparkling zone is a region in Sector Twelve that has only recently been discovered. It is a breeding ground for new stars, with several small suns acting as centres of gravity and sucking in comets and ﬂoating pieces of rock."

"Not a healthy place for a ship to be in," ldris commented.

Owain agreed. "But it's also not a place any Space Accident Investigation Team will want to venture into, and thus ideal for staging the loss of a ship."

ldris nodded. "It's not a place Rhodri would want to go to, either. I mean, there wouldn't be any Federation bases to destroy."

Owain addressed his computer again: "Do the records give any occupation for the LARESSA at the time of her accident?"

"The ship is listed as having been on a research mission. No further details are given."

Idris began to grin. "That's not Rhodri, he likes to blow things up, not research them!"

"Gwenan may have left him." Owain placed a hand on the computer. "Was any insurance paid, and if so, to whom?"

"The sum of twenty thousand credits was paid to Roy Brown."

Owain exchanged a look with Idris; Roy Brown was Rhodri's assumed name.

Idris shrugged. "Makes sense. If Gwenan was supposed to have flown the ship, she could hardly claim the sum herself. They'd want to know how she managed to survive."

Owain nodded slowly, thinking things over. "It must mean they're still alive." He ordered the computer to see if there was any record of the purchase of another ship under Rhodri's or Gwenan's assumed names.

The machine drew a blank.

"They must have changed their identities again," ldris said.

Owain wasn't going to give up that easily. Impatiently he told the computer to see if it could find a pattern in the recent raids on Federation bases, which would give an indication of Rhodri's activities and whereabouts. Impatiently he drummed his ﬁngers on the machine's plastic case, while it set to the task. At last the computer said:

"I have found the pattern you are looking for. It indicates the person is operating from the planet Dolores." Before Owain could ask the obvious question, the machine went on: "Originally this was designated a penal planet for grade four offenders, who were allowed to take their families with them. The first batch chose the name, which means sorrow."

"Trust a computer to come up with superfluous information," Idris mumbled.

"They managed to survive," the computer continued, "leading a simple agricultural life. The Federation left them largely alone until twenty years ago, when gold was discovered on the planet. Then they forced the inhabitants to work in the mines, treating them as slaves. Many died. Having mined out the gold, the Federation abandoned Dolores six years ago after killing the few survivors. According to recent rumours, the planet has now been taken over by a group of pirates."

"It figures," ldris said. "Rhodri always wanted a planet-based headquarters. Remember how he went on about needing to have at least one planet behind him."  
"Yes." Owain didn't need reminding. "An abandoned mining complex must form an ideal base."

"A pirates' nest - he must have been recruiting," Idris commented. "Or maybe he simply took them over."

"Perhaps." Owain cast his mind back to the crux of the matter. "If Gwenan is still alive, she is the obvious one to have betrayed us. I'll have it out with her. And warn Rhodri," he added, a disquieting thought entering his mind. "If she's betrayed us, she may betray him as well."

"Rhodri can look after himself." Owain found ldris's pleading, dog-like brown eyes on him. "Please let things lie."

He was getting fed up with the idiot's whining! "Shut up!"

Idris sank back in his chair. "Those pirates might blow us out of the sky before we've landed."

Owain cast him a nasty smile. "I should have known your concern was all for your own safety. Don't worry, Idris. Before landing on Dolores we'll send out a call, containing one of the CYMRU codes. Rhodri will recognise that, and know it's us, but it won't mean anything to anyone else. If he doesn't react, we'll know our deductions are wrong, and we'll leave."

Not waiting for the other's comment, he fed the co-ordinates for Dolores into the autopilot.

*******

In orbit above Dolores, their message was acknowledged. They landed at the base's landing pad and were escorted to Rhodri's private quarters by an eager looking young man who seemed to worship his leader. Halting before a door in the long, metal-walled corridor, he whispered in a revering tone: "He's in here." He knocked and opened the door. "Your visitors, Roy."

"Show them in," a familiar voice said. "That's all, Nova. Thank you."

The youngster stood aside to let them pass. Entering with ldris on his heels, Owain was vaguely aware of the door being closed behind them. He took two steps into the room, then halted on taking in the sight of his former acquaintance. Rhodri looked much thinner and shabbier, sporting an unkempt beard and a stained shirt. But the change went deeper; in his eyes was a hardness that unsettled Owain.

"Owain, Idris." The voice seemed to be the only feature left the same. Then Rhodri smiled, and Owain could see a shadow of the man he had known.

Better not beat about the bush. "We were betrayed to the Amagons, Rhodri. We managed to escape and silence them. They are no longer a threat, but the traitor may strike again. I've ruled out Caryl and Glyn." He'd leave the news of their deaths until later. "Which leaves Gwenan. If she betrayed me, you can't trust her either."

Rhodri burst into laughter.

Taken aback, Owain found himself stuck forwords.

Not so Idris. "It's not funny, Rhodri! We were nearly captured and we lost the HERALD."

Owain regained his voice: "The Amagons wanted to sell us to the Federation, who would have tortured the truth about the CYMRU out of us. Then the hunt for you would have been on, Rhodri!"

Rhodri stopped laughing. "You're right, it isn't a laughing matter. But in your own words, Gwenan is no longer a threat. She's dead — went down with the ship on a mission six years ago."

Owain frowned, dismayed. He could detect no sorrow in Rhodri's voice. He'd expected the man to show regret for the loss of one of his closest supporters.

"How can you be sure she's dead?" Idris asked. "She may have shammed the loss."

Rhodri shook his head. "No, she died."

Owain's dismay deepened. Rhodri didn't seem upset by her loss at all.

"I don't understand, Rhodri." But as he said so he was beginning to. "Someone must have betrayed me... YOU!"

Suddenly ldris moved between them. "No, Owain. It... It might have been me. I mean," he prattled on, "as I said, on our last trip to Ludentia Ultra, I met these chaps in the bar. They offered me a drink, w-well, more than one."

"And you got drunk and spilled the beans," Owain hissed, cursing himself for not seeing what had been staring him in the face from the beginning.

"W—well, I might have said something." Idris rubbed his head. "Truth is, I can't remember a thing. It's all blank."

"You FOOL!" Owain's hand went for his gun, but he arrested the motion; he couldn't kill the idiot.

A shot rang out. Idris lunged forward, a look of surprise on his face. Owain managed to catch him. Blood welled from ldris's mouth, then his body went limp in his arms. Lowering him, Owain saw a large, bloody wound in ldris's back. Bewildered, he looked up straight into the muzzle of Rhodri's gun.

"He deserved it," Rhodri said. "But the only toughness YOU ever showed was with words."

Owain found his brain unwilling to take in the callousness. "Idris was harmless. An irritating idiot, but harmless."

"He was a danger," Rhodri spat. "I can't take the risk of someone betraying me, in drunkenness or not!"

Owain tried desperately to get his mind working again. "You sabotaged the LARESSA, causing Gwenan's death. That's why you are so certain it wasn't feigned. And why her death doesn't upset you."

"She was getting too demanding," Rhodri said. "I had no time for her. But if I had rejected her outright, she might have taken revenge by betraying me."

"So you silenced her." In a haze, Owain drew his gun. A ﬂash lit up. He felt a shock against his chest. As if through a mist he saw Rhodri lower his gun. Strange - no pain! His knees gave way and he landed on ldris's body. Slowly he began to fall, deeper and deeper into darkness until, mercifully, his consciousness ended.

*******  
*********


	7. The Guzman Affair (Blake)

Now on his own, Blake followed his way impatiently through the dark corridor. Ha, there was a door marked 'ESPARANDAN PARLIAMENT'. That must be his.

Entering, he found himself in another corridor, this one brightly lit. Behind him, a voice was calling: "Rodrigo!"

Yes, he was Rodrigo Blanco, Member of the Latinas' Parliament, on his way to his office in the Parliament building. Turning, he saw his Political Advisor, Carlos Alvarez, hurry towards him. Blanco sighed - he wasn't in the mood for a confrontation.

Catching up with him, Alvarez hissed: "This is the fifth time in a row we've been outwitted by the President. You can't close your eyes to the truth any longer, Blanco! We have a traitor in our midst."

Blanco turned his head away; he didn't want to face the truth yet.

Relentlessly, Alvarez went on: "Apart from us, only four of your associates knew of our strategy. One of them must be the traitor."

Not replying, Blanco reached his room and entered, followed by Alvarez, who carefully closed the door. He wasn't surprised to see his four closest associates already in the room - Alvarez must have rounded up the suspects before confronting him.

Juanita, a pretty blonde with a well-developed fashion sense, was his Personal Assistant. Catalina, a slim woman with a mass of auburn curls, acted as his Press Ofﬁcer. Felipe Romero, a non-descript man with a taste for the good life who spent his time frequenting Esperandan's bars listening to the political gossip, had appropriated the title of Political Analyst. Diego Guzman was Blanco's Secretary, a solid and dependable man.

The news of the defeat must have spread already; their faces were dejected. He looked from one to another, forcing his mind to contemplate the unthinkable. Could one of these people really be capable of stabbing him in the back?

Before he could say anything, Alvarez bluntly uttered his suspicions.

Juanita immediately rose to the challenge: "Yes, it's clear we have a traitor among us, and we don't have to look far, do we, Alvarez? You've never embraced Blanco's cause wholeheartedly. You're in this purely for yourself, to retrieve your family estate confiscated by the President."

Crossing his arms, Alvarez produced a haughty smile. "I have never made a secret of that. Supporting Blanco is still the best way to achieve my aims."

"Enough!" Blanco let his gaze rove over his team. "I trust you all. There must be another explanation."

"I agree," Catalina said. "Maybe the President has bugged the office?"

"Our last strategy planning was held in the open air," Alvarez observed.

Felipe nodded. "There's no way that could have been overheard."

"It must all have been a coincidence," Guzman said. He didn't sound totally convinced, though.

They couldn't have that; Blanco wasn't going to let his team fall apart by suspicion. "It IS a coincidence. Now go home and take a long night's sleep. I need you fresh and rested here tomorrow morning."

They left. Felipe first, clearly eager to be away to his haunts. Then Catalina, casting Blanco an encouraging smile. Juanita seemed to hesitate for a moment, then followed them. Head held high, Alvarez managed to make his back express his feelings quite eloquently. Guzman went last, lifting some papers from the desk. He looked preoccupied.

Blanco opened his mouth to ask if something was the matter, then thought better of it. He was tired, and he needed solitude to think out his next strategy. With relief he saw his Secretary go.

*******

"Blanco, BLANCO!" Slowly he became aware of someone tugging at his arm. Reluctantly Blanco opened his eyes. He'd worked far into the night. Come to think of it, he must have fallen asleep at his desk because that's where he was, slumped in his chair, his body stiff and aching.

"Blanco, wake up." The urgency in Felipe's voice penetrating his consciousness, he stood, nearly toppling over from the sudden pins and needles in his legs. "Yes, Felipe, what is it?"  
  
"It's Guzman - Diego. He's been found dead at his apartment."

"WHAT." Now wide-awake, he stared into Felipe's distraught face. The man was known for his dubious jokes. But his expression told him this wasn't one of them.

"Come on!" Blanco ran from the room to the building‘s exit, then crossed Esparandan's Liberation Square into the Calle Grande where the apartment block stood.

A crowd had formed at the entrance to the block, by the look of it a fair mix of journalists and sightseers. In front of the door stood a policeman, blocking the entrance.

"Let me through," Blanco commanded, adding his name and ofﬁce.

The policeman shook his head. "Nobody's allowed in until the forensic team has ﬁnished, sir."

"It's all right, we're finished," a new voice said. With dismay Blanco recognised the man who had appeared in the doorway: "Verdugo!"

The Security Captain, a dark-haired, hard-looking man with a nasty scar running over his left cheek, gave him a curt nod. "I've been appointed to investigate this case. It's a classic case of suicide - a shot through the head."

"Suicide?" Blanco's indignation overrode his grief. "That is impossible! Guzman would never commit suicide."

Verdugo shrugged, pushing past him. "That's what their nearest and dearest always say. I'll let you have a copy of the autopsy report." He hailed his ﬂyer that was hovering stationary a few metres above the square, climbed in as soon as the pilot had brought it to street level, and was away.

Catching a gush of excitement from the audience and the ﬂashing of cameras, Blanco turned back to the door. Two ambulance men were bringing out the corpse. When they passed him, Blanco grabbed a corner of the sheet covering the body's head and jerked it away.

The sight revealed almost made him gag. Most of the head was gone.

"Must have held the gun to the top of his head," one of the ambulance men said.

Feeling sick, Blanco turned his back to the scene. immediately he found himself surrounded by journalists. Microphones were pushed in front of his face, accompanied by a barrage of questions:

"How do you feel about losing one of your closest helpers?"

"Have you any idea what made him do it?"

"When did you last see him?"

"Did he give any signs of his intention?"

Blanco was used to dealing with the press. He held up his hand until the questions abated, then said: "l do not accept that this was suicide. For one, Diego Guzman wasn't the type for such a deed. He was one of the most stable and down-to-earth persons I've ever met. He was also a very practical man. He would have put the gun straight to his temple, not choose the awkward method of putting the muzzle to the top of his head. This is where his killers made a mistake."

This caused a ripple of excitement. Blanco raised his voice: "Because of my parliamentary immunity my enemies can't get at me. So now they target my friends. But they won't get away with it! I demand an independent investigation. I will not rest until Diego Guzman‘s murderers are found and brought to justice."

*******

That same evening it was announced that, under the pressure of public demand, the President had ordered the Head of the Security Forces, Dona Eluciana Zerbalan, to conduct an independent enquiry into the death of Diego Guzman. Blanco took the news with mixed feelings. Having brought the President to this action was a triumph. But it was to be doubted whether Zerbalan could be trusted any more than Verdugo. He aired his concern in a meeting with his remaining team members: "How can we expect an INDEPENDENT enquiry from the Head of the Security Service?"

Catalina nodded. "She'll want to protect a Captain of her Service."

"Maybe not in this case," Felipe remarked. "Rumours go she's fallen out with Verdugo."

"So she might see this as an opportunity to get rid of him," Juanita said.

"Indeed." Alvarez produced one of his cold smiles. "It will be interesting to see what she comes up with."

They didn't have to wait long. On the morning of the day of Guzman's funeral, news came in that Security Captain Verdugo had been arrested on suspicion of the murder of Diego Guzman. In a press conference Dona Eluciana Zerbalan announced that the murder weapon found at the crime scene had been traced to him.

The cremation was a simple ceremony, attended only by Guzman's closest friends. He had been a widower, his wife having died in a ﬂyer crash a few years before. After the ceremony Blanco and his team went back to his office.

Felipe moved to the viscast set and switched it on.

"Not now, Felipe," Catalina said.

Felipe shrugged. "Life goes on."

"He's right," Alvarez said. "There may be further news about the case."

Juanita looked doubtful. "It's too early for new developments."

"Let's see anyway," Blanco decided, seeing the head of a popular newscaster fill the screen. The man's usually suave features now betrayed an inner excitement.

"News has just come in that Security Captain Verdugo, suspect in the Guzman case, has died. According to a statement by the Head of Security, Dona Eluciana Zerbalan, he fell to his death while trying to escape from the 16th ﬂoor window of the Security building where his interrogation was conducted." The newscaster‘s head made way for a view of the large, square, austere Security building, then the camera panned to an upper floor window. His voice continued: "Dona Eluciana had this to say:"

The viscast showed Zerbalan, elegantly enveloped in a white dress, walking towards a dais in front of which the entire national press seemed to fight for a place. The view changed to a close-up of her face. She wore too much make-up, Blanco noticed irrationally, maybe to counterbalance her very short-cropped black hair.

"By an unfortunate lapse of concentration by his captors," she began her statement, "ex-Security Captain Verdugo has managed to evade his trial. You can rest assured that those responsible will be punished. Fortunately Verdugo had already confessed to the murder of Diego Guzman. His motivation was a personal grudge against Guzman. I am satisfied with his confession and I declare this case closed."

Ignoring the questions shouted at her, she left the dais.

"Grudge? What grudge?" Felipe asked, turning down the set's volume where the newscaster had moved on to other news.

Juanita frowned. "Guzman never mentioned knowing him."

"It's a cover up," Blanco hissed. "Guzman's death was a political murder, probably ordered by Zerbalan herself, and Verdugo's been made the scapegoat."

"I bet she engineered his so-called escape attempt," Catalina said, "to shut him up."

"Obviously," Alvarez remarked. "Why else take him to the top ﬂoor for questioning instead of the interrogation room in the cellar?"

Blanco felt his fury rise. "She won't get away with it! I'll demand a truly independent enquiry!" _

"Why not wait for further developments?" Alvarez said.

Something in his tone made Blanco take notice. "You think something else will happen?"

"I think Zerbalan may have overplayed her hand. I suggest we let her have the rope to hang herself."

"Pretend we accept the verdict to make her feel she's got away with it?" Juanita asked.

"That sounds good tactics," Catalina said.

"Yeah, let's sit back and wait." That was Felipe, of course; doing nothing was his favourite choice of action.

Grudgingly, Blanco agreed. He needed time to decide on the best strategy anyway.

*******

The next morning in his flat, Blanco was woken by a persistent ringing in his ears. It took a moment to register this must be his portable communicator, and another moment to pick it up from his bed table and reply. "Blanco."

"At last!" Alvarez sounded disgustingly awake. "You'd better switch on your viscast set - the AINA channel."

Still half asleep, Blanco reached for the remote control. The set came to life, showing a very agitated newscaster.

"--Items have been delivered to the Esparandan Office of the Associated International News Agency. One is the footage of a security camera catching the fall of Security Captain Verdugo."  
  
Suddenly wide-awake, Blanco stared in fascination at the screen, where the footage was shown. He recognised the window of the Security Building. Suddenly the glass shattered. A human figure appeared, head first. For a moment he hung over the sill, then he toppled out. As with most security cameras, the image was poor, but good enough for Blanco to recognise Verdugo. The image stopped, then showed a close up of the window's corner, where very briefly a hand could be seen, pushing Verdugo.

Blanco didn't need the newscaster‘s comments to tell him what this meant. He sat up though, when the man announced: "The other item can be described to be of even more importance. It is an audiotape of a conversation by the Head of the Security Forces, Dona Eluciana Zerbalan, in which she seems to be discussing her intention to frame the murder of Diego Guzman on Captain Verdugo."

The tape was played. To help the viewers, a transcript of the conversation appeared on the screen. Blanco stared at it, almost in trance:

ZERBALAN: All it needs is the gun to be traced to him. That can be arranged.

MALE VOICE: Are you sure?

ZERBALAN: Positive, doctor! I'll get him to conduct the initial enquiry. It will look bad when he declares the death to be suicide.

MALE VOICE: But what if he's put to the lie detector test?

ZERBALAN: He won't live long enough for that.

MALE VOICE [admiringly]: Oh, I see.

ZERBALAN: Verdugo has outlived his usefulness.

After a few seconds of silence to let the damning words sink in, the newscaster said piously that the original tapes had been handed over to the authorities. But not before they‘d been copied and distributed to newsagents all over the planet, Blanco mused with glee. Sending them to the Associated International News Agency ofﬁce had been a brilliant move since any Latinas news agency might have hesitated to broadcast them for fear of repercussions. But who was the anonymous donor?

"And how did the sender get hold of the tapes?" Juanita asked when they'd gathered in his office to discuss the developments.

"It has to be someone within the Security Forces," Catalina said.

Blanco nodded, he'd come to the same conclusion. "Someone who is working against Zerbalan."

"Doesn't surprise me," Felipe observed. "I've heard she's a devil to work for. Very disloyal to her people, throwing them to the wolves to cover up her own cock-ups."

"But it still doesn't explain the tapes," Juanita insisted. "The security camera I can understand, those things are all over the place."

Felix nodded. "It was probably just a matter of the sender thinking about securing the film before anyone else did."

"But the audio tape is different," Juanita went on. "Someone must have bugged Zerbalan."

"Or her companion," Catalina said. "The man she‘stalking to."

Alvarez moved to switch on the room's viscast set. "They should have been able to identify him by now. Let's hear the latest news."

They had to wait for the weather forecast to end, but then the news reel began. It was a female news reader this time, a black woman with an enormous pink-and-purple wig.

"Back to the Guzman affair. The voice of the man on the Zerbalan audiotape has now been identified as that of Doctor Javierez. He is a leading brain surgeon and personal friend of Zerbalan." On the screen appeared the portrait of a large-nosed, curly-haired man whose face held a slightly bewildered expression.

"He looks more like a night-club bouncer than a medic," Felipe observed.

"A warrant for his arrest has been issued," the newscaster continued. "Meanwhile, the President has personally ordered the arrest of Zerbalan."

"That's quick," Juanita mumbled.

"Not surprising," Alvarez said. "With only six weeks to go before the presidential elections and Blanco gaining on him in the polls, the President must begin to feel very worried."

Meanwhile the image on the screen changed to Zerbalan being escorted from the Security HQ building to a police patrol flyer by two uniformed men who looked distinctly uneasy.

"She was taken into custody an hour ago,“ the news reader said. "On her arrest she had this to say."

The camera panned in on the slim figure in the white dress, who halted on perceiving the reporters. The men holding her stopped too, as if she was leading them instead of the other way round. Zerbalan addressed the camera: "This is outrageous! Those tapes are fakes. I will prove my innocence. And anyone involved in this plot will bear the consequences!"

This made the policemen at her side look even more apprehensive. Clearly they feared to become the ﬁrst victims of her wrath.

"They're all scared stiff of her," Felipe said.

Juanita nodded. "She'll bully and bribe her way out!"

"NO!" Blanco rose from his chair. "That must not happen! l will stop it." With long strides he left his room, aware of his team members following him through the Parliament building's long corridors.

Outside, he found a fair amount of people amassed on the square. More were coming. Blanco climbed on a bench and began to speak.

He made the speech of his life. Passionately he reminded the mob of the atrocities performed by the Security Force. It was a long list. The crowd began to shout their own grudges. Blanco skillfully took up on them, then mentioned his Secretary. "Diego Guzman was murdered as a warning to me. But I will not yield to threats! And I won't stand aside and let his murderers get away with it. If Zerbalan did not ﬁre the shot herself, she certainly gave the order to kill him. l won't allow her to get away with."

"NO," the mob roared. Those in the front began to move, followed by the others. Soon the whole mass was marching to the prison building that lay in a street off the square.

Seeing that only his four helpers remained, Blanco climbed down from the bench.

"An impressive performance of rabble rousing,“ Alvarez observed.

"Did you catch it?" Felipe asked.

"Of course." Alvarez took his mini-recorder from his pocket. Blanco knew he habitually taped his speeches, so they could discuss and review them.

"Hadn't we'd better go after them?"Catalina suggested.

"And be trampled in the melee?" Alvarez asked.

"He's right," Felipe said. "Let's return to the ofﬁce and watch the news in comfort."

"If the President calls an extra Parliament meeting you need to be there, Blanco," Juanita said.

That made sense. Swiftly he led his team back to his ofﬁce. There they watched the news on the viscast. For once taken by surprise, the camera teams had missed the crucial developments by minutes. When they arrived at the prison the mob had just left. The teams made the best of it, filming the destruction and carnage wrecked. Wardens had been killed. In their search for Zerbalan the invaders had set the other inmates free. They didn't ﬁnd Zerbalan amongst them, though.

Incensed by their failure, the mob had marched on to Zerbalan's villa at the edge of the town. Finding the building empty, they looted it thoroughly, then set ﬁre to it. Again, the camera team only arrived when the damage was done, and was reduced to ﬁlming the thick black smoke rising up from the building. As always with a good ﬁre, Blanco found himself watching with fascination. Soon flames were coming from the windows, then the roof ﬂared up in a splash of angry red ﬂames.

Fire-fighters arrived on the scene, but seemed to decide quickly that the villa was beyond saving. The house, one of the largest in Esparandan, was surrounded by acres of garden. There was no danger of the fire spreading to other buildings.

*******

The next day fact after fact emerged, keeping Blanco and his team glued to the viscast screen in his ofﬁce. First the director of the prison came forward. 0n hearing the angry mob approach, he had hidden in one of the cells, from which he'd let himself be 'freed' by the intruders. Posing as a prisoner, he'd managed to walk away among the crowd. He declared that shortly before the onslaught, he'd decided to move Zerbalan to a secret location. Two of his most trusted wardens had smuggled her out and set off with her in a flyer. The flyer had been destined for the Old Fort, an age-old stronghold built by the Spanish conquerors over a thousand years ago.

The keeper of the fort conﬁrmed that he got orders to receive the prisoner. But the ﬂyer had never arrived.

Next came in news that the ﬂyer was found hidden among the bushes of Esparandan's largest park, less than a mile from Zerbalan's residence. The bodies of the two wardens were found inside. A hastily conducted autopsy showed they'd both been killed by a quick-acting poison administrated with the help of a syringe. One corpse had a needle mark in the neck, the other in the throat. Of Zerbalan there was no trace.

Up until then the search for Dr Javierez had turned up a blank. He wasn't in his apartment in Esparandan, nor at his villa in the mountains outside the city. But now it was announced the wreck of his ﬂyer had been found. It had crashed on a wooded mountain slope near his villa. His dead body was still inside. Evidently he'd been on his way to his villa when he'd lost control of his flyer. A forensic team sent out to the site found traces of a small explosive device amongst the ruins. They determined it as a pressure charge, set to go off at a certain altitude. Similar devices were found in Zerbalan's personal safe in her office.

From the state of his body, the time of Javierez's death was established as eight days ago - the day the audiotape had come to light.

"He must have ﬂed as soon as he heard about the arrest warrant," Blanco commented.

"But Zerbalan had already decided he had..." Alvarez gave a passable imitation of Zerbalan's voice: "...outlived his usefulness."

"And sabotaged his flyer," Blanco added.

Juanita frowned in thought. "Does this mean he killed Guzman?"

"We'll never know for sure now," Catalina said. "But it seems likely."

Blanco had no doubt. "I'm sure of it. And she'd have wanted to silence Javierez, even if the audiotape had not emerged."

Felipe took a deep breath. "So Zerbalan and Javierez killed Guzman in order to frame Verdugo. Then Zerbalan sabotaged Javierez's ﬂyer to make sure he wouldn't talk. She also had Verdugo chucked out of the window in a so called escape attempt, to make sure HE wouldn't talk."

"But there's someone else involved," Catalina said.

Juanita nodded. "The person who sent the tapes to the press."

"Who must have had access to Zerbalan, to bug her conversation," Blanco added.

"Javierez," Felipe said. "He must have made the audio tape as insurance. And removed the film from the security camera."

"To keep them as insurance, yes." Blanco could see a snag, though: "But why make them public?"

"To implicate Zerbalan," Juanita suggested.

"For that he needed only have used the videotape," Catalina said.

Blanco snapped his ﬁngers. "Exactly. By sending the audiotape he implicated himself also. A stupid move."

"So it wasn't him," Juanita said. "Maybe he gave the tapes to a friend for safekeeping."

Catalina nodded slowly. "And the friend then betrayed him by promptly sending the tapes to the press."

"That's stupid," Felipe observed. "He could have sold them for a lot of money."

It suddenly struck Blanco that Alvarez was not taking part in the discussion. He sat aside, ostentatiously studying a ﬁle. This was unusual, the man liked to air his opinions and sneer at those of the others. He couldn't remember a time when Alvarez had kept silence for so long.

Blanco raised his voice. "What do you think, Alvarez?"

His Political Advisor looked up from the ﬁle. "What I think is immaterial, Blanco. Whether Zerbalan is caught or not, she is finished. The other suspects are dead, which means the case is closed. The Latinas are rid of some nasty security ofﬁcials, the President is damaged by the events, and the loss of your faithful follower has gained you much sympathy. This may be enough for you to win the election."

All true, but Blanco felt that he was holding something back. "I want the truth, Alvarez!"

The other held his gaze. "I doubt it."

"You!" Juanita suddenly spat at Alvarez. "Did you kill Guzman in order to frame first Verdugo and then Zerbalan?"

"No, Juanita," Catalina whispered.

Alvarez produced a haughty smile. "Actually, I considered such a scheme - Guzman WAS expendable - but decided against it. There were too many things that could have gone wrong."

"But you know who killed him!" Blanco was suddenly convinced of that.

Dropping the file on the desk, Alvarez moved towards him. "Let it rest, Blanco."

He couldn't be serious! "No, I insist you tell me!"

Alvarez gave a shrug and put a hand in his pocket. For a moment Blanco expected it to reappear with a gun, but it was a folded piece of paper.

Blanco took and unfolded it. Recognising Guzman's handwriting, he began to read. Hardly able to take in the words, he dropped his hand, the paper fluttering to the ﬂoor.

"Yes," Alvarez said harshly, "it is Guzman's farewell note. He did commit suicide. l was just too late to prevent it."

"What?" Juanita exclaimed.

"After our discussion about the traitor in our midst," Alvarez began, "I remembered Guzman once mentioning he had a booster implanted in his brain to keep his depressions at bay. Apparently he suffered from a clinical form of depression, which was aggravated by the death of his beloved wife."

"I know," Blanco said. "The booster could detect and neutralise the brain impulses causing the depression."

"By chance," Alvarez went on, "I had recently heard about an investigation project into the reading of people's minds by recording their brainwaves and translating them into sound, much the same as with radio waves." His voice became irritatingly smug. "The thought occurred to me that someone might have found a way of tapping into Guzman's booster."

"Of course!" Blanco felt almost weak with relief that none of his friends had willingly betrayed him. "They could have got the information about our strategies from Guzman's mind. "

Alvarez nodded. "I went to Guzman's apartment to discuss this possibility with him. When he didn't open, I let myself in - I knew the entry code. l found him slumped in the chair behind his desk, his head blown away. The gun had fallen from his hand. On the desk was the suicide note."

Juanita eyed him distrustfully. "Why shoot himself through the top of his head?"

"To destroy the booster," Catalina said softly. "How he must have hated It, once he realised what it had been used for."

"Yes." Blanco could imagine that.

"Nobody had seen me enter," Alvarez continued. "I was about to leave as stealthily, when I heard footsteps and fumbling at the door. In an impulse I picked up the letter. I quickly hid in the kitchen, leaving the door ajar. I heard the front door being opened. When I caught the whisper of voices, I activated my pocket recorder."

"So that's how Zerbalan got bugged," Felipe mumbled.

Alvarez gave him a faint smile. "You can imagine my shock on hearing Zerbalan's voice - it's very distinctive and I knew it well enough to recognise it beyond doubt. From their conversation I learned that her companion was Dr Javierez, the surgeon who had installed the booster in Guzman's brain. Guzman had phoned the doctor that evening to ask whether it was possible for the booster to act as a bug. He must have worked out he might have unwittingly been the cause of the leak. Taken by surprise, Javierez had said yes. Zerbalan was furious about that, telling him he should have denied it. Apparently they'd been bugging the booster for the last six months. Javierez registered Guzman's death by the ceasing of his brain waves. In panic, he'd contacted Zerbalan and she had told him to meet her at Guzman's apartment."

"So Verdugo had no role in Guzman's death," Blanco remarked.

Alvarez nodded. "Zerbalan said Javierez's blunder had turned out well as it provided the ideal opportunity to get rid of Verdugo. He was becoming increasingly unstable and his atrocities were beginning to damage her position as Head of the Service. She would detail the enquiry to him, and then accuse him of the murder. There followed some vague sounds, possibly of Zerbalan making notes of the gun's registration number to rig the ﬁles so it would be registered as belonging to Verdugo. Then they left, Zerbalan expressing her thanks to the doctor and promising him a suitable reward. I waited until they had gone, then left with the suicide note."

Blanco had been listening with increasing fury. "WHY didn't you tell me?"

Alvarez held his gaze steadily. "Because it was more sensible to see how things would develop. Playing it cagily might rid us of Zerbalan and Verdugo and get you the sympathy of the voters."

"He's right, Blanco," Juanita said unexpectedly.

"You wouldn't have kept quiet,“ Catalina added. "No, I wouldn't," he hissed. "I wouldn't have stood by to watch a man being framed for a murder he did not do, not even Verdugo! And neither should YOU!"

"The tape alone would have been enough to hang Zerbalan," Alvarez said, ignoring the outburst. "But it was clear that, for the framing to work, Zerbalan must silence Verdugo before he was put to the lie-detector test. So I rigged up a camera in a tree facing the Security Building. It was a long shot, because I wasn't sure at all that they would go for the old the-prisoner-tried-to-escape-by-jumping-from-the-window cliché. It paid off, though, the camera even catching a glimpse of the hand pushing Verdugo from the window. The rest you know. It was simply a matter of waiting for the right moment to send the tapes to the press office."

"After you carefully edited the audio tape," Juanita said dryly.

Alvarez gave her a cold smile. "Of course. I didn't want the fact about Guzman's booster or the brain-bugging become known, nor the fact that his death was - indeed - suicide."

"You should have sold the tapes to the highest bidder," Felipe mumbled. "Would have fetched thousands!"

Blanco rested his head in his hands. "I should not have let Guzman go, that last evening. I saw something was bothering him. If only I'd asked--"

"There was nothing you could have done," Juanita interrupted.

Catalina nodded. "One cannot fight fate."

"At least he's out of his misery now," Felipe said. "He never did get over the death of his wife, you know. He did his best to be cheerful, but the life had gone out of him."

"He was for the chop anyway," Alvarez observed. "Zerbalan would not want the brain—bugging to become public knowledge. The moment he began to suspect the truth and consulted Javierez, he was doomed."

That was only a small consolation. "We'll go on with the campaign," Blanco decided. "We'll make sure Guzman did not die in vain. I owe it to him to rid The Latinas of the evil and corrupt regime, and give the power back to the people. And when I'm elected President, I will transform the grounds of Zerbalan's villa into a memorial garden for Guzman."

*******

The elections brought Rodrigo Blanco into the Presidential seat with a comfortable majority. One of his first deeds was to set in motion his plan for the Diego Guzman Memorial Garden. A demolition team, engaged to clear the rubble of the burnt out house, stumbled on a secret cellar that held a gruesome find: the body of Dona Eluciana Zerbalan. After her escape, it was deduced, she must have gone straight home to her hiding place. It had protected her from the mob, but not from the toxic fumes. The autopsy revealed she had been suffocated from inhaling the smoke sucked in by the ingenious air supply system.

"A fitting end," Alvarez said, when he'd come to Blanco's office with the news.

Blanco couldn't agree. "She should have stood trial, and be held to account for her crimes."

"To be let off by a judge too scared to convict her? Zerbalan had a long arm, Blanco. Haven't you noticed how the people are still afraid to take part wholeheartedly in the new regime? The reassurance that she's irrevocably dead will change that."

"Yes." Blanco saw what he meant. "Now they can live without fear. That is true freedom."

Suddenly Alvarez vanished before his eyes. Then the interior of the office vanished, and the walls. Finding himself in a bare octagon room, he stumbled to the door. That gave onto a corridor that was vaguely familiar. Of course - the Mystery Games! This must have been it. No painstaking search through archives and files, but the reliving of the past. The RECONSTRUCTING of the past! He wasn't Rodrigo Blanco, he was Roj Blake. The events in there had been a figment of his imagination! Induced by hallucinating drugs, no doubt.

Furious, he strode to the door at the end, kicked it open and stepped into the main corridor.

******   
*********


	8. Endgame

Now the main corridor was brightly lit. Blinking, Blake saw the others stagger from their rooms. The distance between the marked doors was far less than he remembered.

He blinked again, dumbstruck by the sight of a highly agitated Avon HUGGING Vila.

"You're alive!" Avon exclaimed.

"I am?" Vila asked, looking around as if he wasn't sure where he was.

Cally hurried to them. "It was all a dream."

"A nightmare," Jenna said with feeling.

"But so real." Gan looked as if he was still trying to wake up.

Blake quickly went to join them. They must have gone through hallucinations as lifelike as his own. "Our food must have been tampered with, some drug that caused these illusions."

Cally nodded. "My people have done research into substances able to enhance the brainpower. But the project was stopped when they found the drugs had unwelcome side effects, such as bringing out people's inner fears."

Blake snapped his fingers. "That's it! The substance enhanced my deducing abilities, enabling me to set the known facts into a plausible frame. But it also evoked my deepest fear." The death of a friend through his negligence.

"To be betrayed by those we trust," Avon whispered, hardly audible.

"To die young," Vila said, trembling. "Burnt to death in a confined space - in the DARK!"

"To die alone," Cally said.

"Lost in outer space." Jenna shuddered. "Where no rescue team can reach."

Gan shook his head, as if slowly awakening. "To see one's best intentions turn into disaster!"

Blake felt his anger rise - his mind had been interfered with too often already! "Go and change, quickly! Don't forget your bracelets. Then we'll find out who is behind this."

"Yeah," Vila said. "We should ask for our money back. l paid to be amused, not to get the nightmare of my life!" Lines of worry began to crease his forehead. "It WAS just a bad dream, wasn't it? Not some kind of premonition?"

"No, Vila," Cally replied, more kindly than she usually chose to address him, "it was just a hallucination. I know for certain that, to those of my people who took part in the experiments, none of the terrible things they saw ever came to pass."

"Well, that's a relief." Vila didn't sound entirely convinced. "Still, I'll make sure never ever to enter an escape capsule! I'll stick to shuttles - at least they can be controlled."

"Cally's right, Vila," Blake said firmly. "We have nothing to fear from our nightmares. Now go and change! We'll meet in the corridor."

In his room Blake found the portrait of Rodrigo Blanco gone, replaced by an ordinary mirror. Or had it always been an ordinary mirror? Had the name sign been only there in his imagination?

Now he remembered - the names that had escaped him earlier. The opposition leader's name wasn't Rodrigo Blanco, it was Pedro Ruiz-Garcia. And his political advisor's name was Sancho Veracruz, not Carlos Alvarez. Blake grimaced - his drugged mind must have come up with names resembling those of himself and his companions!

While quickly changing back into his own clothes, another thought struck him: had the fluorescent colours and shiny material of those provided by his hosts been intended to contribute to the hallucinations?

Back in the corridor he waited impatiently for the others. When they'd all gathered, he marched them back to the reception area. At the computer desk Blake demanded to see the manager. A heated debate followed. Blake was nothing if not tenacious; he made it quite clear he wouldn't budge until his request was met.

At last, with an almost human sigh, the computer gave in. A door in the back wall slid soundlessly open and they were told to go through. Blake strode in, followed by the others.

He opened his mouth to tell the manager in no uncertain terms what he thought of their treatment. The sight of her stopped him short.

The manager was a middle-aged woman no taller than a six-year-old child. Dressed in a bright yellow frock, she sat in a tiny wheelchair at a low desk that must have been specially adapted for her. "Sit down please," the woman said. Her clear voice held unexpected command. She gestured at the row of chairs in front of the desk.

All right, they might as well discuss this in comfort! Blake lowered himself into the outer right of the six chairs.

The woman waited until they'd all sat down, then asked: "You think you have reason for discontent?"

Blake nodded, not trusting his voice.

"You all came to find the solution to a mystery,“ the woman went on. "Can any of you claim that they did not get it?"

Blake wanted to say it was the means he objected to, but somehow found himself unable to do so.

"You wanted to know the truth behind the Guzman Affair," the woman continued, now addressing him. "Did you not find what you were looking for?"

"It is the most likely explanation," Blake heard himself say. Although aware now that it had been a dream, he still felt guilty for not having been able to prevent Guzman's act of desperation. But then relief washed over him. Guzman was not his responsibility — HIS team was still complete!

The woman turned to Jenna, who was sitting next to him. "And you, are you satisﬁed with the solution for the Ghostship ORION Mystery?"

"I am," Jenna replied in a clipped tone.

"And you, child of Auron," the woman continued, "does the solution of the Initiation Enigma satisfy you?"

Cally nodded, rather meekly as it seemed to Blake.

"And you, my boy?" the woman asked Gan, "are you satisfied?"

"Yes," he said. "A primitive form of teleport is the only way to explain the doctor's disappearance."

"And you?" Addressing Vila, the woman's voice took on a subtly seducing tone. "Did you find the outcome of the DEPENDABLE Heist plausible?"

"Oh yes, it explains why the loot has never been found. It's sunk without a trace in the volcano - along with The Ace. A horrible way to go!" Vila shuddered, then smiled invitingly at the woman. "Why don't you join me for a drink at the bar so I can tell you all about it?"

Blake stared at him, astounded. Had he really heard Vila try to chat up this woman? Surely his taste went for young women with good legs?

Ignoring the invitation, the woman turned to Avon. "And you, did you solve the riddle of the CYMRU Disaster?"

"Possibly," Avon said. Blake found him casting a very peculiar gaze his way. "It did make sense."

The woman crossed her arms. "Then you have nothing to complain about. You found the answers you came for."

Finding himself dismissed, Blake left the room, feeling like he did after a reprimand from the Headmaster at his primary school. The others ﬁled out after him, equally subdued.

Back in the reception area Vila whistled in admiration. Starry eyed, he exclaimed: "What a smasher!"

Jenna rolled her eyes.

"l thought you liked them young and blonde?" Avon observed icily.

Vila stared at him in surprise. "But she was! And those gorgeous legs!"

"You'd better go and have you eyes examined," Avon told him. "The woman was dark-haired and at least forty! And how can you judge legs that are hidden under a laboratory coat?"

"You should go with him to the optician, Avon," Jenna said. "She wore the blue uniform of a Senior Flight Instructor."

"You must be colour blind," Avon replied. "She wore the purple coat that only the members of the Guild of Scientists are entitled to."

"But she was a frail old grey-haired lady in a red kimono," Gan exclaimed.

"No," Cally said. "She was an Auron Matron, in her green robe of office."

"Mindgames again," Blake hissed. "We all saw a person we would find it difficult to stand up to."

Vila's face fell. "You mean she wasn't real?"

"She was in our imagination," Avon said.

Blake nodded grimly. "We were tricked into seeing a woman we would respect, or feel intimidated by." And it was interesting to know that Jenna held such respect for a Senior Flight Instructor and Avon for a member of the Federation scientists' elite body.

"We'd better go," Gan suggested. "Before they start any other mind games on us."

"I agree," Cally said, reaching for her bracelet.

Blake beat her to it. "Orac, bring us up!"

With relief he saw the contours of Liberator's teleport bay solidify around them. Following his crew to the flight deck, he decided to take the lesson from the Guzman Affair to heart. He must make sure they would not come to harm. The only way to do that was to stop the risky raids on communication centres and weapons development bases. He would go for Central Control instead - bring down the Federation in one strike, at the least risk to his followers.

The End


End file.
